- THREADS -
by Chick Feed
Summary: Relationships between the two Hunters have never been worse. When attempts at reconciliation fail, it's time to separate. Alone, each fall victim to their situation, situations beyond the one's experience and the other's control. One brother wonders, is he dead, while the other lies dieing. H/C both S&D, angst, trauma, famiy, suspense, supernatural. M rated (No "wincest" etc)
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING** \- " **M** " rated for language and heterosexual scenes. Warning reminders will be given at the start of relevant chapters.  
 **Spoiler Alert** : **Season** **9** themes.

A.N. : _F.A.O. My much loved and very appreciated regular readers  
_ Please know that this is not my usual "style" (hence the **M** ) and, if you find some of the scenes uncomfortable, I apologise to you  
wholeheartedly. You who know me also know that my fics grow one sentence at a time, so, what comes next is always a surprise  
to me too! This fic. has some scenes that were a bloody great shock, and I gave them serious thought before leaving them in.

 **This tale I dedicate to my honey : MB64 :** _Let the whistle blow for the Story Train to once again set off...  
_ -o-  
 **SUMMARY** **:** _Relationships between the two Hunters have never been worse. When attempts at reconciliation fail,  
_ _it's time to separate._ _Alone, each fall victim to their situation, situations beyond the one's experience and the other's  
_ _control._ _One brother_ _wonders, is he dead?_ _The other lies dieing, victim to the source of the Hunt.  
_ _-o-_

 **THREADS**

 _Chap. 1/ Prologue  
_ -oOo-

"Hi."

Dean Winchester didn't bother to answer or look up from the magazine article he was reading when his... _Partner_...walked into the bunker's kitchen in search of coffee. Pouring himself a mug of the strong, dark brew, Sam made another attempt, familiar with the routine of having to coax any kind of two way communication from his recaltrient, brother, recently. _Yeah, since you finally told him how it is, how it's gonna be. Not since you finally broke him. Way to go Sam._

"Reading anything interesting?"

Dean intentionally kept his focus on the pages of the mag.

"Sure. Quiz here you might wanna try. _What's your personal loyalty rating?_ Want me to read the questions out for you?"

"Ok, fine. I'll be in the library if you want me."

"Great. Knock yourself out. And don't worry. I won't be disturbing you any time soon. Wouldn't want to ruin the fun you'll be havin'."

Taking his coffee with him, Sam quickly headed for the doorway leading out of the kitchen. He paused just before he exited and glanced back at the top of Dean's head.

"I won't mind if you want to disturb me. Dean?"

"I hear you...Can't see any reason _why_ I'd want to though. You plannin' on eatin' in tonight, or will you be heading off out?"

Thinking that Dean might be hoping he was staying at home and that they could eat together, Sam confirmed he intended to be around. Dean, at last, raised his head and made eye contact with him. Sam was taken aback by the cold emptiness in Dean's eyes. Never before in Sam's life had Dean looked at him in that way, no matter how much Sam had disappointed him, or hurt him, or let him down.

"Well, I'll be goin' out. Just so you know."

Dean turned away again, leaving Sam hesitating in the doorway, his insides in turmoil, opposing emotions vying with one another for dominance, uncertain whether he should say something, but equally certain that if he'd said he was going out, then Dean would have said he was staying in. Dean was aware that Sam was still hovering and he glanced up again.

"Something I can do for you, partner?"

Anger surface as the winner in Sam's internal battle, and his eyes narrowed.

"Yeah Dean, there is...Grow up!"

Turning, Sam strode off and headed for the library, not caring what impact his words may have had on Dean. In the kitchen, Dean smiled grimly. Turning his attention back to the magazine, Dean found himself reading the same lines repeatedly until, finally, he flung the magazine across the kitchen.

" _Dammit_!"

-o-

Dean hadn't planned to go out that evening, but stubborn pride now forced him to climb into the Impala and head out into the local town. His bar of choice was situated out of the town centre with it's selection of wine bars and theme pubs. The place he parked up at had a shabby appearance from the outside, that only got worse on the inside. The decor looked like it hadn't been up-dated since the sixties, and the small area of floor directly in front of the bar counter that had any carpet felt vaguely sticky underfoot. Every inch of woodwork had been coated in thick, dark brown varnish, haphazardly applied, and the place was a paradise of red vinyl, attempting to masquerade as leather. An old fashioned TV played over the bar, it's volume too high and the selected channel dictated by whoever was serving behind the bar that evening. None of these things mattered to Dean, he already knew that the beer was good and the food, whilst basic, had not yet made him ill. The mood he was in that evening made the bar feel plenty good enough to Dean.

-o-

He had chosen to perch on a tall stool directly at the bar. The TV was tuned into a channel devoted to the odd and bizarre. As Dean ate his burger and fries without really tasting them, he idly gazed up at the screen where the programme that was showing was dedicated to exploring weird and strange stories about the human body. A section on something called Conversion Hysteria had just finished and the narrator was excitedly talking about what was coming up next, after the break. The image on screen was a close up of a woman's bare shin and what appeared to be short but deep scratch marks. Dean became amusedly curious when the woman's fingers came into shot, and she began to pull long strands of narrow thread apparently out through the scratches, supposedly tugging the amazingly colourful particles from within her own leg where, the narrator insisted, neither she nor anyone else had first secreted them.

-o-

Despite finishing his meal, Dean hung around to watch the programme, ordering another drink. He and the barman watched as other people were shown allegedly suffering from the same mysterious condition. The barman cringed when another woman seemed to be producing these things from the tear duct of both her eyes.

"Can you believe this? It's like they've all got some kinda sewing kit inside 'em! Look at _her_! You're not tellin' me she stuffed all that thread down her own tear ducts? That's _got_ to be faked, some kinda camera trick, ain't it?"

Dean shrugged.

"Maybe, but why? What would be the point?"

The narrator informed the viewers that, in every case that had so far come to light, all the sufferers were female. The barman pointed at the screen.

"There you go. Says it all right there. I'll bet they're all neurotic cows, ev'ry last one of 'em. Coloured cotton. I tell yer, _'ad_ to be friggin' women. You wouldn't find a guy shoving cotton into himself for no good reason. It's bloody stupid! Stupid cows. Look at that one! Pullin' bits outta her tongue! That's just gross, man ... Tell yer what though, real 'andy if you pop a button off your shirt. _'Ere you go love. Just grab some_ _cotton out your fanny an' sew us this back on pet._ Dumb bitches."

Dean pushed his empty plate over the counter to the guy. Picking up the remains of his beer, he climbed off his stool and looked coldly down at the man across the counter.

"Question for you pal."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"When were you last _with_ a woman you didn't have to pay for up front?"

Draining his glass, Dean set it down on the bar and slid it across to the silent barman.

"Better hurry your ass back into that kitchen and set too washin' these dirty pots, _pet."._

-o-

Dean had already left when Sam finally emerged from the library, and the kitchen was in darkness. For some reason, standing outside the kitchen with it's lights still off suddenly made the bunker feel very empty and Sam was surprised at the relief that switching the lights on brought. A quick scan around revealed no quickly scribbled note telling him where Dean was and suggesting that Sam join him. Everything was spotlessly clean and tidy. The only sign that anyone other than himself used the room was the magazine he had seen Dean reading earlier and which he had left lying on the kitchen table.

-o-

Opening the refrigerator, Sam gazed at it's contents. Since being at the bunker, Dean had developed a habit of keeping it stocked, after a fashion. Beer for himself and "rabbit food" for Sam. Sam cast his mind back to the days when they were both kids, and the times they had struggled to survive when their dad didn't get back from a hunt on the day he had said he would, sometimes not returning until days later. Whatever meagre remnants of food might be found hidden at the back of a cupboard, Dean always made certain that it was Sam who ate. Sam knew that on too many occasions, if there was _any_ food available, it was only down to how light fingered Dean was, and how willing to take a risk, especially on behalf of Sam. Unbidden, an old saying drifted into Sam's thoughts. _Don't bite the hand that feeds you._ Sam considered the statement. Sam fretted over the words and wondered, is that what he had so recently done to Dean?

-o-

Sam's gaze focused on the six packs, the only thing in the refrigerator that Dean would consume. Realising that the actual food was all for him, it seemed to Sam like Dean's priorities hadn't changed that much from the days when they were hungry kids. Sam began pulling out the ingredients for a basic salad and moved to a work surface where he put together his evening meal, functioning on autopilot. Sam wondered whether Dean would continue to be the one who topped up their food supplies? Or whether, after Sam's grand speech to his brother a few nights ago, this would become another routine that would change now, helping to widen the ever increasing chasm between them? Sam shook his head, telling himself that it didn't matter. There was no way Sam could take back his words, or the hurt he knew he had caused, Hell, _intended_ to cause Dean. That's the trouble with hurt. When someone hurts you, however well intended, you want to hurt them back. And Dean's self serving lie that had caused Sam to turn away from the path he wanted to take and unknowingly open himself up to angelic possession, had hurt and aggrieved Sam deeply.

 **-oOo-  
** _Thank you for reading. As ever reviews and comments, whether good  
_ _or bad, are like chocolate. Maybe even better!_ Chick xx


	2. Chapter 2

THREADS - Chap. 2

-oOo-

Sam had dozed off whilst reading and was sprawled in one of the armchairs in the bunker's main room, the book balanced at a precarious angel on his lap. He jumped awake instantly in response to the sound of the bunker's door opening. He quickly rubbed one hand across his face as he sat himself up right, not wanting to provide an opportunity for sarcasm or jibes. He turned to acknowledge his brother as Dean descended the stairs leading from the main entry point to the bunker.

"Hey."

Sam glanced at his watch and frowned. He had expected Dean to be out until late, but instead he was back far sooner than Sam had assumed he would be and Sam wasn't entirely certain what to make of his brother's comparatively early return.

"Have a good time?"

Dean still hadn't spoken.

"Meal ok? I'm surprised to see you, I didn't expected you'd be back till late. No problems I hope?"

At the bottom of the stairs Dean stopped, finally turning to look in Sam's direction, his face set in a closed mask of neutrality.

"So...What? We're socialisin' now? What happened to partners, nothin' more?...Just so's you know, I'm goin' to spend some time in the library checkin' somethin' out, alright? No need for you to bother about stoppin' off to say goodnight. Oh, an' before you decide to come knockin', I can sort myself out if there's anythin' I want."

Biting back the temptation to make some scathing reply, Sam focused instead on the one topic he figured Dean might actually talk to him about.

"Did you found a possible job for us?"

"Maybe, dunno for sure. That's why I need to check somethin' out. If it does look like it's anythin' that could be a case, don't worry. I'll let you know if it looks like it might need the both of us.

Sam watched as his brother disappeared off down a corridor, noting how stiff and tense Dean's back and shoulders were, how his walk lacked it's usual energy, how Dean's hands remained firmly stuffed inside the pockets of his jacket. Sam spun away, dragging both hands over his head and through his hair in frustration. He had no idea how to bring Dean back, wasn't certain if he could, or even whether he should. The words had been said, and Dean wasn't likely to go for the quick _I'm sorry, let's forget I was ever pissed at you.._ Sam knew, neither of them could carry on this way. If things didn't improve, eventually one of them would probably take the decision to leave.

-o-

Dean switched the computer off in disgust. Glancing at his watch, he realised he'd been chasing down links for nearly three hours, and he had zilch to show for it. The case he hoped he'd found after seeing the show back at the bar had turned out to be a bust, something called Megallion's Disease. Seemed it was one of those things that some said was real, and others said was some kind of psychological phenomenon, a thing that didn't exist outside the minds of the women who claimed to be sufferers. Whatever. All Dean now knew is that it wasn't their... _his_ kind of thing. Turning off the lights, Dean walked out of the library. Once out on the corridor, he hesitated, wondering whether Sam had gone to bed yet? He could have done with a beer, but didn't fancy the idea of bumping into his so called _partner_ and all the feelings that it would bring bubbling to the surface again. With a muttered curse, Dean turned and headed in the direction of his room, promising himself that the following day he wasn't going to stop searching until he had found a job, however crappy it seemed to be.

-o-

Sam reached over and flicked the light on his alarm clock, 4.30am. Rolling over, he closed his eyes and, for a time, tried to lose himself in sleep again. Instead, he continued to feel more and more awake until, finally, he gave up.

-o-

Outside the closed door, Sam tried telling himself that he hadn't meant to head to the library, that it was a pure coincidence which led to him standing there, staring at the door. Hesitating, he found himself raising a hand, ready to knock. Annoyed at himself, he stuffed his hand in his pocket instead, telling himself that he didn't have to knock; he had as much right to go in there as Dean did. Even so, Sam turned away and walked slowly back to his room where he took himself back to bed, eventually drifting into an unsettled, restless sleep.

-o-

As with every other morning since Sam had fractured his core, Sam's words that night were the first thing Dean thought about when he woke. And as he had every morning since, Dean buried his hurt and grief under anger and sarcasm. It was wearing him down, and he knew it. He had to find a job, some reason to get out of the bunker for a while and away from Sam's gaze, away from Sam himself. Throwing back the bed covers, he quickly got up and dressed then headed to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. He was relieved to find the kitchen empty, staying in there just long enough to make coffee before making his way back to the library, once more shutting himself inside, this time turning the key in the lock.

-o-

Sam told himself that he was merely giving himself a treat that morning. He'd allowed himself a dozy lay in, only hauling himself out of bed when he felt ready. He followed this with a long, hot shower, and dressed himself in light grey sweat pants and an ancient, out of shape white tee. Ignoring his boots, he instead tugged on a pair of scruffy trainers which had seen far better days. Eventually, however, he ran out of excuses to hang around in his room and, steeling himself, he set off in the direction of the kitchen.

-o-

It was clear that Dean had already been in there by the fresh coffee sat on the coffee machine's hot plate. Filling a mug, Sam forced himself to remain in the kitchen rather than immediately escaping back to his room and he sat at the table sipping slowly at the slightly over strong brew. He had vague thoughts about cooking breakfast, hoping the smell of it cooking might tempt Dean down, but then he remembered what was in the refrigerator, and banished the idea. Sam was never normally against the idea of happily sitting around, with no pressure, devoting his day to reading books out of pure interest, rather than skim-reading those which were necessary to whatever job he and his bro... _Dean_ , had taken on. Sam was also one to generally appreciate peace and quiet. This day however, for whatever reason, seemed to stretch emptily, never endingly, ahead of him and, he was already bored. It never really struck Sam previously exactly how much he and Dean talked to one another. Despite living, travelling and working together, they never seemed to struggle for conversation. In fact, there were days when Dean seemed to be talking continuously leaving Sam really wishing he'd just shut up, even if only for a minute. Now though, for almost a month, there had been ever lengthening silences between them. The time they spent just being in the same room as one another had also become rarer, so feeding and stretching those long silences still further until here they were, almost complete. The realisation hit Sam with a physical jolt; his moment to choose had arrived, while it was still possible. It was time to choose whether he wanted to stop those thick threads of silence from closing in, weaving themselves together to form their own hedge of thorns to stand between himself and Dean, or whether he would be content to live with the continued sound of his and Dean's silence, knowing for certain that it would eventually sever completely whatever remaining ties were left between them? Sam decided it was no contest. Like it or not, he was a Hunter, and that meant he didn't give up without a fight. First he needed a reason for Dean and himself to spend time together, he needed to find them a case. His movements were quick, purposeful; as he made his way to the library.

-o-

Sitting back from the computer screen, Dean picked up the sheet of paper that was covered with his hurriedly scribbled notes, and began to scan through what little his time searching had unearthed so far. There was the haunting of a small mid-west hotel. While the tale had proven good for business for a number of years, no one had complained. But when, more recently, people who stayed there began to develop unexplained injuries, the numbers then beginning to increase, along with the severity, suddenly the owners decided they wanted something done. They had already hired someone, their name very familiar to Dean, Ghost Facer's. Dean decided that he couldn't really cope with facing the Ghost Facers, so his scrawled an **X** through that possible job. He spent a little more time considering a spate of deaths where the deceased had each begun to proclaim they had some impossible skill, in one case a woman began to claim she could fly, an ex-army vet. Announced to his family that he was stronger than Superman, another guy claimed he didn't just walk over hot coals, but that he was totally inflammable. Whatever the half dozen or so individuals claimed, that was pretty much how they died; throwing themselves off tall buildings, trying to stop an on-coming train with their bare hands, setting themselves alight, and so on. Dean put a question mark by that possibility. Then there was coma guy laid up in hospital and needing 24 hour care. Oddly though, friends and neighbours also claimed to have seen him out and about, seemingly fit and healthy, but always in areas where not long after the guy was supposedly spotted, there would be a pretty devastating RTA. Dean figured the guy was probably in the coma as a result of having suffered an RTA of his own. Dean looked up when he heard the sound of someone trying to open the door to the library.

-o-

Sam automatically grasped the library door handle and went to push the door open, momentarily surprised when the door resisted and remained firmly closed. Another shove at the door proved that the first time wasn't a fluke, the door itself was locked. Sam hesitated, guessing that Dean had locked himself in the library very intentionally. The thought instantly had Sam feeling angry.

"Dean? I know you're in there. Get this door unlocked will you? I need to do some research."

Inside, Dean rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch, realising he had been sat there for close on three hours. Telling himself it was about time he took a break, he logged off and stood up, stretching his back and arms before slowly heading towards the door.

-o-

Hearing no reply, Sam was about to ensure Dean wouldn't be able to claim he hadn't heard Sam knock this second time, when the sound of a chair being moved stopped him from hammering louder. He heard the key being turned and the door opened to reveal Dean's disinterested glance before he silently walked past Sam. Dean was already heading away down the corridor before Sam heard a couldn't-care-less _All yours_. Sam said nothing out loud, but Dean heard the library door being closed with a little more force than was altogether necessary; Dean discovered he gained no sense of satisfaction from having managed to irritate Sam so quickly.

 **-oOo-  
** _Thank you for reading :) Chick xx_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, my mouth is  
_ _doing an odd thing, I think it's called smiling? - Chick xxxxx  
_ THREADS Chap. 3

-oOo-

Sam was annoyed at himself for responding, in however small a way, to Dean's deliberate attempt _Hell, scratch that, the douche was successful!_ at winding him up. His annoyance reared it's head again when he saw that Dean hadn't merely logged off, he'd told the laptop to shut down, meaning Sam had to sit through all the start up scripts and the instillation of new updates. Sam stared at the message on the blue screen telling him what percentage of the updating was complete, and he tried to remind himself that he was supposedly the more patient out of the two of them. Leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head, Sam watched the percentage climb slowly towards the 100% job complete that meant he could finally use the laptop. Once logged on, he opened his internet search engine, and paused. His gaze flicked to the _History_ icon, trying to decide whether or not to check out what Dean had been trawling through. Finally he chose not to, telling himself that he really didn't care what porn sites Dean had been panting over, and instead he began his own online trawl.

-o-

Dean stood in the main area which was sited at the bottom of the bunker's exit and entry stairway. Hands in pockets, he stared around, sighing when nothing garnered his interest or attracted his attention. His gaze drifted to the stairs, following them up to the way out. Out there was food, and noise, and movement, and food. Dean grabbed his jacket.

-o-

Not wanting to stray too far from the location of the bunker in the event that working a case together turned out to be a bad idea limited how wide Sam cast his net. Even so, a little more than two hours later, Sam thought he had something which might prod Dean's curiosity, and give Sam the chance to prove that despite current circumstances, they could still work together. Now all Sam needed to do was come up with a reason for them to be in the same room together at the bunker, not hiding away in their separate bedrooms. Sam's mind cut back to the refrigerator and it's basic supply of greenery. He needed to shop.

-o-

Almost immediately Sam felt himself able to relax a little more now that he had a focus, he could cope with the thought of communicating with Dean about a case. Jobs were neutral ground, demanding they examined facts, not emotions, and that suited Sam perfectly. He had been whistling to himself whilst he searched around for pen and paper. Faced with actually writing a note for Dean, however, brought Sam to silence again as he chewed on his pen and sat on his bed staring at the blank sheet of paper in his other hand. Scrawling a hurried note was so easy, before things had changed to how they were now between himself and Dean. Sam stared at his second attempt critically, hoping it said enough to draw Dean's attention and convince him that Sam was expecting that they would to do this together. Leaving the note by the coffee machine, Sam headed up the bunker stairs and opened the door to the outside world. Stepping over the threshold, Sam paused and began patting and checking his various pockets, unable to remember whether he had picked his phone up.

-o-

At last feeling the shape of the phone through a pocket, Sam dug it out and stood with his head bowed, staring at his screen, checking his messages and his call log, and not noticing something low to the ground behind him that was blending in beautifully with the colours and textures of the long, thick foliage it was using as a temporary hide. Taking a chance while this new and opportune potential prey had it's back to it, the creature silently scuttled for the open doorway. Once inside, it leaped from the top of the stairs down onto the floor of the bunker, and instantly skittered out of sight. Putting his phone away, Sam closed and locked the door to the bunker and prepared to walk to the nearest road that got fairly regular usage and where he intended to try his luck at hitching a ride into the nearest town.

-o-

The ground was still damp from the recent rain but the sun was already busy drying things. Sam breathed deeply, enjoying the musky scent from the surrounding foliage and trees that the combination of the wet and the sun's warmth created. His good mood dipped somewhat when he realised that the Impala had gone, meaning Dean was already out somewhere. Pulling out his cell again, Sam stared at it, trying to decide whether to call Dean to check when he'd be back; or would that be likely to irritate Dean enough to have him decide to stay away, booking himself into a cheap motel? Sam decided not to risk the call, tucked the phone back in his pocket again and set off walking.

-o-

Dean had no particular direction or timescales planned, he simply drove, enjoying making random turns largely based on how interesting a direction each road looked to take. It took him close on three hours of steady cruising before he spotted a small diner with a handful of other vehicles parked outside. Still sitting in the car, he gazed at the unkempt exterior of the place, and didn't feel too hopeful about the standard of food served in _The Buck Stops_. Still, he'd been pleasantly surprised by a few such places before. He decided to give it a go, unaware that his finding this particular diner was more than just happenstance.

-o-

Strolling inside, he glanced around before heading towards an empty booth that allowed him to see the other customers' comings and goings. He politely stepped to one side to allow a waitress carrying a full tray to get past him. Looking up at Dean briefly, she nodded her thanks and headed to a booth that had been claimed by an older couple. Dean tracked the waitress, wondering what it was that had caused her red rimmed eyes and the skin around her nostrils and just under her nose to be red and sore, looking like an over abundance of tissue use. He had spotted clean streaks running through her foundation that she clearly wasn't aware of, and Dean took a guess that the brand of eyeliner the woman used wasn't waterproof. Sitting down, he turned his attention instead to the hand written and photocopied menu.

"Get you a drink while you make your mind up?"

Dean read the waitress' name tag as his eyes scanned up to her face _\- Chick's definitely been cryin' over somethin'-_

"Um, yeah, Hazel. Coffee please and hold the milk."

"Will do."

"Do you keep any newspapers?"

Hazel pointed with her well chewed biro.

"Few over there on the rack for customer's use."

"Great. Thanks. Which one's the local rag?"

Hazel sighed, already turning away.

"I'll go get it for you."

-o-

He watched the waitress head over to the rack of papers, pull one out and glance at the front page. He saw how she held one hand over her mouth, seeming to need time to gather herself again before turning and hurrying back to him. Dropping the paper onto the table, she walked away without a word, but Dean had already been quick enough to spot the signs of new tears building in her eyes; and the clear fluid dribbling from her nose. Curious, he pulled the newspaper towards himself across the table, and began by scanning the front page, pausing at a headline near the bottom of the page.

 **Local Man Suffocates Himself  
** For full story turn to page 5

Dean began skimming through the article, pausing after not much more than the first couple of lines, sitting up with a thoughtful frown. After glancing across briefly to the teary eyed waitress, Dean returned to the article, reading with renewed interest.

-o-

Sam walked along at the roadside, enjoying stretching his legs and in no real hurry to hitch a lift; he was happy to let vehicles go by. Twice the drivers of cars had begun to slow down on seeing him, both times Sam had smiled his thanks and signalled the drivers to carry on. He focused his mind on the dinner menu and the ingredients he needed to buy. Whilst the meal wasn't intended as an apology, he still wanted to cook something he thought Dean would enjoy and that wasn't burgers. Having settled on steak, he turned his thoughts to the accompaniments, and realised he had an excuse to contact Dean. His finger paused over the speed dial, and he chastised himself for feeling nervous. Taking a deep breath, he hit the speed dial, expecting that his brother wouldn't answer at first. He was surprised when he heard Dean's voice.

"Yeah?"

"Dean, hi, it's...er..me."

"I know that."

"Sorry...Do you like honey and mustard sauce?"

There was a silent pause...

"Why?"

"I'm going to cook a dinner for us this evening."

"I see ... You know you don't have to bother?"

"I know, I want to. You're always cooking, I figured it must be my turn...So, the sauce?"

Sam waited out the silence again as Dean considered his response.

"What're you doin' with it?"

Sam's shoulders sagged with relief.

"Steak. That ok? I mean, I can get somethin' else, if you'd prefer?"

"Steak's fine...I um...I might've found a case...You interested?"

-o-

Each of them had held out a peace offering of sorts, though neither brother was dumb enough to think that everything was ok again, it wasn't, but a small step had been taken on both sides. Sam began to actively look out for a possible ride into town and, at the same time, Dean's eyes were on the sad looking waitress. He wanted to talk with her, find out what she knew about the fruitcake guy who had been claiming he didn't need to breathe, then seemingly set out to prove it by putting on his coat and his deadly homemade hat, consisting of a plastic bag pulled down over his head then carpet tape tightly wrapped around his neck to seal and secure it. The cops were thinking the guy had planned on going out for a stroll like that. The guy's body was wedged up behind his front door, meaning the local cops had to break a window to get inside. Grateful his brother wasn't with him, Dean opted for the concerned man of the cloth who'd noticed the girls tears. Schooling his expression into what he hoped looked like Holy sympathy, rather than _I need the bathroom urgently_ , he beckoned the waitress over.

-oOo-  
Going ok so far? Chick xxx


	4. Chapter 4

_The Fugly targets it's prey...  
_ Threads - Chap 4

-oOo-

Even though currently there was silence in this strange place that felt like it had magic living in the walls, magic and decades of knowledge, the creature knew the prey was still around; it could smell him. The previous prey had died and been harvested, but the creature knew it would soon need to harvest again, and so it was a good time to be preparing more prey, ready for when the hunger descended. One touch was all it needed, and the new prey would soon begin to ripen. Without making any sound at all, the creature unfurled and eased itself out from under Sam's bed. Standing upright and with a walk that was almost a glide, the thing crossed to the bedroom door, opening it and slipping out onto the corridor, where it dropped down onto all fours. Following the trail of Sam's scent, it set off to track him down, it's movements now giving the thing a look reminiscent of a four legged arachnid.

-o-

Standing outside the bunker entrance, Dean paused long enough to take a few deep breaths until he felt ready to face Sam and, for a while at least, remain polite; rather than looking for any opportunity to kick out at his brother in retaliation for the words which had left Dean broken like nothing else, not even Hell, had managed to do.

-o-

Everything was set and ready to go, all that was needed was for Dean to return. Sam sat in an armchair looking at, but not concentrating on, one of the many books in the Men of Letters' incredible library. Every now and then, he became aware that his knee was, yet again, bobbing up and down nervously as he fought off his doubts that Dean would return. Dean _would_ come, he _would_ be here, he'd _agreed_ , he had a _job_ he wanted to talk about, he wouldn't be much longer. Distracted as he was, Sam didn't notice the soft, almost loving, caress to the back of the ankle belonging to his none bouncing leg...

-o-

Contact having been made, the creature pushed it's upper half backwards on the floor and retreated again to around the back of Sam's chair. Turning, it moved away swiftly, exiting the room and then crawling back along the corridor. It stood upright again in order to let itself back into the prey's hide. Sliding itself into it previous hiding place, under Sam's bed, the creature moved itself up once more until it had it's back against the same wall that the headboard of Sam's bed was pushed up to. From there it squeezed it's whole body into an area beneath the bed where a deeper darkness had been created by the positioning of the bedside cabinet. Satisfied that there was to be a harvest, the creature curled up like a cat, it's final small mass belying it's true size, and began to studiously groom itself to pass the time.

-o-

The sound of the door to the bunker being unlocked and opened startled Sam out of his seat. Irritated at his own reaction, he put his book down and headed back to the kitchen, passing the entrance stairs with Dean halfway down them. Sam glanced up at his brother, giving him a quick smile of greeting, noting that Dean had already hidden his feelings behind the implacable expression he usually reserved for strangers and enemies. Sam forced himself to ignore it.

"I've made fresh coffee. Would you like one?"

Dean nodded.

"Yeah, sure...Thanks."

-o-

Dean walked into the kitchen as Sam was setting two mugs of coffee down on the kitchen table. The oven was on low and giving off an interesting smell.

"You've been busy."

Sitting down, Sam looked briefly towards the cooker.

"I've done the veg, they're keeping warm in the oven. Sauce's in a pan, I'll just need to re-heat it while I do the steaks. How would you like yours doing?"

Dean wrapped both hands around his coffee mug, wondering why Sam was asking? His brother _knew_ how he always ordered his steaks. Dean shrugged.

"However you're having yours, that'll be fine."

Sam looked surprised.

"You sure about that? You generally have steak cooked till it's charcoal!"

Dean's gaze fixed on Sam.

"Well...Maybe it's time I give it a go your way, instead of sticking with my usual? You know, try changing an old habit, test it out...Can't promise I'll like it enough to be able to switch over though. I've always preferred it well done and, like it or not, there's always things _none_ of us can change, however much we try. That's because they're more than a habit, they're who we are."

-o-

Dean turned his attention to his coffee, leaving Sam sat staring at him in silence until he emptied his mug. Dean was the first to speak again

"So, should we eat first? Or should I tell you about the job first?...Sam?"

In the end, Dean sat at the kitchen table and talked while Sam cooked, listened, and mulled over Dean's offer to try his steak blued, and what Dean had _really_ been saying.

-o-

Sam poured them both a glass of red wine before putting a jug of thick, rich sauce and a large bowl of mixed vegetables on the table and turning his attention to the steaks. Dean stared at the vegetables suspiciously.

"What've you done to these?"

"Roast them."

Dean leaned forwards, staring harder into the bowl.

"You can roast this stuff?"

Sam smiled over his shoulder at Dean's dubious tone.

"Try some with the steak, if you don't like them, leave 'em...Steak's up."

Dean gazed down on the plate of seared meat that had materialised in front of him.

"Jeeze. Was this even allowed to get anywhere within sight of the heat?"

Sam took his seat.

"You said you'd give it a go my way."

"I will...I just figured it'd be cooked some before we ate it, is all. "

" _Dean._..Eat."

"You gonna tell it to stop mooing at me?... _Alright,_ kiddin'...See?... I'm eating..."

Sam smiled as he watched Dean hesitantly tried his food, then lapse into silence, while concentrating on clearing his plate, even helping himself to more veg until, finally, he was confronted by an empty plate, at which point he looked slightly surprised. Watching Dean scan the empty vegetable dish, Sam saw a small flash of disappointment at the lack of refill. Sam grinned, quietly triumphant.

"Well? Blued steak and roast Mediterranean veg get your approval?"

Dean gave Sam a blank look.

"Not too sure...Maybe you'd have to cook them another night before I could give you a definite on that?"

Sam bit back his virtually automatic response of _Jerk,_ reminding himself that while they had both taken a tentative step forward the chance, if there was one, of full reconciliation still had a long way to go.

-o-

Sitting side by side at the bunker's long boardroom style table, Sam had his laptop open.

"Ok. This waitress..."

"Hazel."

"Right, her. She's the latest vic's cousin, and _he_ died after getting it into his head he could somehow survive without breathing."

As he spoke, Sam began creating a chart of the known victims, looking to identify any links they or their families had to each other. So far he had two boxes, one around Hazel's name, the other containing the name of the most recent victim, Charles Alder. A black crucifix under the guy's name signified his death and the number seven. He joined the boxes together by adding a thick red line from one to the other.

"Now we start adding on the other known vics, identifying any links we come up with. Then we decide whether this' our kind of thing or not."

His eyes on the monitor, Dean nodded.

"Oh, it's our kind of thing alright."

Sam frowned, catching the undercurrent within Dean's assurance.

"Is there something you should be tellin' me? I mean, I'm up for us working this together Dean, I am. But only if I don't think you're holding anything back. There's no need for it. We're partners... _Right_?"

-o-

Sam could've kicked himself, if his foot wasn't already lodged firmly in his mouth. There it was in Dean's eyes, the instant return of the hurt, the loss. _He'd_ triggered that. It was pointless even trying to explain he hadn't meant _partners_ in the way that Dean, understandably, took it. Sure enough, Dean's tone was straight away cold, flat, as he immediately distanced himself again.

"No worries Sam. I'd not forgotten that's all we are now. I was about to explain _how_ I know this' supernatural; but you'd already jumped in an' were rollin' nicely with your little unnecessary reminder there...So anyway, thanks for the input, but I think I'm gonna work this one alone. An' thanks for the meal, I appreciated it, really. But please don't go puttin' yourself out for me again, I'm sure you got more important stuff to do...Anyway, I'm kinda tired, so I'm gonna hit the sack early. I'll be outta here tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Dean, I..."

"Goodnight Sam."

-o-

Sam remained seated, watching sadly while Dean headed off in the direction of his room, disappearing around a bend in the corridor without giving Sam a backward glance.

For a time, Sam continued to stare along the corridor, replaying Dean's final statement to himself, worrying about how oblique it seemed. Had Dean meant he was leaving to go do the job tomorrow? Or had he just told Sam that he was leaving for good before he walked away?

" _Shit_!"

Elbows on the table, Sam rested his forehead in the palms of his hands despairingly. He felt worn out, unable to keep up with this dancing on egg shells that they were both caught up in. One ill chosen word from him had taken both of them right back to square one. Stupid thing was, Sam knew the major feeling keeping them apart was the same feeling for both of them. Each felt betrayed by the other. Sam smiled bitterly to himself. At least they had _that_ in common then. Lifting his head, Sam deleted the chart he had begun to put together. Maybe it was better that they didn't Hunt together any more? Maybe sticking to separate jobs would help them both begin to get used to functioning as individual Hunters? Maybe...Maybe they _did_ need to take things further, stop even _trying_ to live in the same place? Sam looked around. The bunker was already more of a home for Dean that it was for him, but Sam really didn't want to give up his access to the library, a resource he felt he used way more than Dean ever would. A resource that could truly make a difference for Sam in his job of helping people. A resource valued by him way more than it was by his partner.

-o-

Sam's eyes narrowed and he stood up. His mind now fully engaged in the question of who should be the one to leave and who should get to stay, he wandered over to the Tantalus, selecting the decanter of bourbon he poured himself a generous tumbler full and took a deep swallow. Of the two of them, he considered himself to be more a Man of Letters than Dean. Dean loved the action, always had. And suddenly it was perfectly clear to him; it _had_ to be Dean who was the one to go. Dean didn't deserve this place, wouldn't make use of it in the way he should. And anyway, this whole situation was on Dean. Things wouldn't be the way they were if Dean hadn't been so damn selfish, hadn't invaded Sam's mind, hadn't lied to him, hadn't allowed him to be violated by some Goddamn angel, and tried to keep the fact a secret from him... _Asshole_! Where did he get off, thinking he had some right over Sam's body? Just 'cos the man was a coward, scared to be alone. Sam raised his glass in the direction of Dean's room. Well, Hell, wasn't _that_ about to backfire on the man big time? Sam's mind was made up. After Dean left the next morning, he would use the opportunity to make certain Dean was never able to walk back in uninvited... _Ever_!

"Guess you're gonna have to learn to cope all on your lonesome _after_ all... _Partner_!"

Sam filled his glass a second time, muttering to himself all the while.

"Evrythin's gonna be fine once he's outta here. Don't need him, never did, don't need anyone an' don't need nothin'. Juss me an' my books is all...Huh...Ok...Maybe another bottle or few o' this stuff as well... _Damn_ , thass good!"

Carrying the now almost empty decanter while slurping at his third tumbler full of Bourbon, Sam meandered down to the library. If he intended to read every single book in the vast collection, he figured he might as well lock himself in and make a start straight away. Halfway down the front page of the book he chose to read first, Sam's head thumped down onto the surface of the desk he was sat at, as, not being used to so much alcohol so fast, he passed out in a drunken stupor.

-o-

Dean sat himself down on the edge of his bed and stared down at the floor. He'd had it. He didn't know what Sam wanted anymore. Maybe he should've been more up front about his offer to try being who Sam so obviously wanted him to be? Maybe if he'd swallowed his stubborn pride and just said what he meant? Instead of droning on about steak? Dean grimaced, his thoughts sidetracking...Which, by-the-way, had tasted like complete _crap_ eaten raw! He shook his head. Nah, he hadn't needed to speak plain English, Sam had understood _exactly_ the thread of what he was sayin', Dean had seen it in Sam's eyes, heard it in his silence. But it still hadn't been good enough for him. Sam seemed to want it all from Dean, wanted him to have a full friggin' personality transplant! The only conclusion that Dean could come up with, was that Sam hated him, _hated every single thing about him_ if Sam wanted him to change so much. And Dean suddenly realised that Sam most probably had _always_ felt that way, had spent his whole life to now wishing Dean was a different person. It scared Dean to think that he had _never_ been good enough in Sam's eyes, that throughout the whole of Sam's life he had likely looked on Dean as a failed and flawed no hoper, not at all the person he would have wanted to grow up with.

-o-

Dean wondered what it must have been like for Sam, always wishing he'd been born with someone else for an older brother? Wishing he'd had somebody completely different... _Better_...to raise him? Now, finally, it all made sense to Dean. Right back to when Sam _had_ to go to college, to get away from _him_. It explained why Sam never called him all the time he was there, never responded when Dean had tried sending the odd text to check he was doing ok. It was clear now to Dean why Sam had been so easily led on by Ruby, why he had become addicted to her, and to daemon blood. _He_ had driven Sam to it, by never managing to live up to what Sam had needed. Even without a soul, Sam had made contact with Bobby, and found himself a family he wanted to be with. But for that year, he had never contacted Dean, not until Dean, or rather his location, became convenient to a hunt. Shocked by how easily things were falling into place, Dean wondered now if the Sam with no soul, the Sam who happily used him as bait, then enjoyed watching while he was turned by a vampire, and afterwards completely failed to mention a cure; was _that_ Sam the one who had actually been honest with him? The Sam who'd had no problem in openly stating that he didn't care about Dean? That he had been pretending? Had Sam really jumped into the cage with the sole desire to save the world? Or had there been some small part of him that saw a way of escaping from Dean again? Dean's vision had long since become blurred by tears, but his thoughts continued to build up the evidence in support of how much Sam had always hated him. His memories continued leaping back and forth between events that, now, terrified Dean with the message they appeared to combine to reveal...And then there was Purgatory. Another year apart, one in which Sam had never _once_ tried looking for him. Where, in fact, Sam had simply walked away, turned his back on Dean, and found love waiting for him like some kinda reward.

-oOo-

Any guesses as to what the creature might be?  
(Very few clues to go on) I'd love to hear from you :)  
Chick xxxxx


	5. Chapter 5

_A one horned purple people eater? mb64, you're my little fruit cake!:D  
_ Threads - Chap 5  
-oOo-

The words that Sam had so recently thrown at Dean, more or less making it clear that he would rather watch Dean die than make any attempt to save him, suddenly came back to haunt Dean, hitting him violently with renewed pain. Dean rubbed at his eyes angrily. He had to go. He couldn't wait until morning. He had to get out now, needing to distance himself from Sam's hate, and letting Sam live the life he had always wanted. One without Dean stubbornly hanging about, like a constant noose around Sam's neck. Sam had said he could cope fine without Dean. And Dean, at long last, believed him. Dean began to pack, throwing some things out again as he changed his mind, and grabbing alternatives until he was finally satisfied with the contents of his duffle. It was one thing to be always travelling, moving from motel to motel. But having a base, a place to come back to, meant the luxury of being able to own more clothing than would squash into one bag, it meant having to make decisions when packing, especially when the intention was not to return. It was a new experience for Dean, who told himself he preferred the old way best, where he owned only what he could carry.

-o-

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when there was no sign of Sam in the bunker's communal areas, assuming that Sam had decided to withdraw to the privacy of his own room. Dean was feeling overwhelmed by guilt as it was, he really hadn't wanted to see further accusations in Sam's eyes while he walked out on the mess he felt he had made of Sam's life. Seeing Sam's laptop, Dean put his duffle down and made his way over to it. Logging on as himself, he opened up a new "Word" page, centring his message to Sam, he began to type.

Sam.  
Sorry about everything. I didn't see what I was doing to  
you before. Sorry it's taken so long, but you're free of me now.  
D.W.

Leaving the laptop open, Dean retrieved his duffle and silently made his way out of the bunker.

-o-

Sitting inside the Impala did nothing to ease Dean's sadness. Tonight, it was just a car, a means for him to get away, though Dean had no idea where he should go, and right then, he didn't care. As he had earlier that day, Dean drove aimlessly, taking random turns without taking much notice. His only plan being to drive until he was too tired, sleep in the car, and then start driving again once he woke. He glanced at the fuel gauge, and decided to top up at the next service station he spotted.

-o-

Sam woke slowly the following morning, and with a groan. He peeled his cheek away from the top of the desk he had slept on and coughed dryly, cringing at the sensation of his blood pressure pounding up against his sensitive skull. He couldn't remember ever having such a dry mouth and throat. If right now his life depended on him speaking out loud the words to an exorcism, Sam figured he'd be pretty much screwed. He squinted around with red rimmed eyes, spotting the remains of the Bourbon and reaching for it. Swigging straight from the decanter he swilled the drink around his mouth before swallowing, and something occurred which he could only think of as an epiphany! At six months old he had stopped being like other people. He had been gifted, one of the chosen and, even amongst the chosen, he was the best, most favoured of them. And yet every day he tried to act as if he wasn't a superior being. Now, here was his time to finally acknowledge the greater man that he was, and to consider using his superiority for the good of all mankind!

-o-

Sam stared around in awe at the shelves and glass fronted cupboards, all stuffed tightly with books and journals. Some of the finer rarities, such as hand illustrated and written single copy books, and the books which were so dangerous that special precautions were recommended just to be able to touch them, were kept securely in two tall magically locked safes. If he stopped drinking completely, he would have more time to read and know all these books, every one of them! He didn't actually need to drink, only ever doing so because, like the bourbon, it was pleasurable. Sam recognised that, to his shame, he had failed previously to appreciate that, unlike the rest of the slow to evolve human race, he didn't have to consume food or drink. Now he saw that having the higher ability to live without the need for such petty wants left him more time to devote to what he saw was the most vital of tasks, one that only _he_ was equal to.

-o-

A further consideration gave Sam pause. As a superior human, did he actually have a need to sleep? Or was _that_ simply yet another habit that he could live perfectly well without? He'd gone without sleep before, when he was being tormented by visions of Lucifer. At that time it had caused him to become dangerously ill. And Dean had used Sam's weakness to betray him on that occasion too, dumping him and leaving him in an asylum. _This_ time Sam would be stopping sleeping because he _wanted_ to, and he grew more and more certain that he _didn't_ , in fact, need to sleep. Sam smiled. Twenty four hours a day every day. On that basis he'd work his way through all these beautiful books in no time at all. Sam looked down at the book he hadn't started the previous night, thanks to the Bourbon. Opening it up again, he began to read, having completely forgotten his plan to proof the bunker against Dean ever trying to get back in.

-o-

Dean was still driving aimlessly when the first streaks of dawn sliced open the night sky. Inside the Impala the temperature was warm and taped music played softly, the volume set to low. Unable to stop himself, Dean's thoughts had focused on seeking out more times and events that he now told himself were the signs and indicators of how badly he had let Sam down, or of what Dean now saw as the harsh truth of how Sam really felt towards him. Dean had found himself questioning the reality of some of the pivotal moments they had faced since being on the road, just the two of them, as Hunters. In his mind's eye Dean looked up from the floor at his younger brother and handed him a gun, watching with sadness as Sam took the gun, then aimed down at him and pulled the trigger of what, unbeknown to Sam at that moment, was a gun without ammunition. Now Dean wondered whether, in that moment of Sam showing no qualms about killing him, had Sam _really_ been possessed and acting under the Doctor's control? Or was Sam, in fact, entirely _himself_ at that point? And had Sam seen an opportunity to rid himself of Dean, then put the blame on spirit possession?

-o-

Time and time again Dean tried to stop himself from doubting Sam. Told himself he was being paranoid, but then his memory would drag up yet another piece of so-called evidence that seemed to support both Sam's desire and his attempts to be rid of Dean for good. At the last moment, Dean realised he had let the car drift and he swerved violently, narrowly missing the tree he had been on a direct collision path with. Parking up, Dean sat a while, both hands clutching tightly onto the steering wheel, waiting for his racing heartbeat to settle. He needed coffee, needed to clear his head, needed to focus on what he was going to do now, develop some idea as to where he was heading. Driving more cautiously, Dean began looking out for a suitable looking pit-stop, unable to completely put his thoughts on hold. Contemplating the notion of dividing up the U.S., himself working one half and Sam strictly working the other, Dean was on the verge of giving up and hitting the main highways when he, finally, spotted a place up ahead. As more of the place came into view however, his initial relief turned to confusion, the shape and setting of the place was beginning to look all too familiar. Frowning, he glanced at his watch. Given the hours he'd been on the road, given that he doubted he had spent that time driving in big circles, no way should he be now coming up on the same diner he'd been sat in the day prior.

-o-

Dean pulled up at the side of the road a hundred yards or so short of the diner and sat with the engine idling, staring at the building. He considered the possibility that maybe it was a franchise? In which case it seemed the franchise included having a white van proclaiming that the driver was available to hire for general garden maintenance and his professional tree surgery services, complete with the catchy (!) header of _Tumble Those Weeds_ out front on the forecourt. The same white van he had been parked next to just yesterday. Dean speculated on the possibility of the driver being a fan of the franchise and, by sheer coincidence, having driven the same random route that Dean himself had taken, before visiting another in a string of these same diners. Dean knew he was kidding himself. Yes, much of his journey had been undertaken virtually on auto-pilot, his mind busily wrestled with his new found take on life with Sam and Sam's feelings towards him, but really there was no denying it. This was the same diner.

-o-

Until this moment, taking the potential job that had a link to this place in the form of Hazel had dropped off Dean's horizon. Now that his destination free drive around had bizarrely ended with him being back here, she was forefront in his mind. He wondered what his chances were of being offered free accommodation for the time it took to resolve the case, if it proved to be his kind of thing? If she hadn't got one already, Dean told himself, Hazel might even appreciate having a man around the place for a couple of days or so. And it would give Dean breathing space to gather himself and start to consider his next move. There had to be a reason why his journey had eventually brought him back to here. His mind made up, Dean drove on, turning into the diner's forecourt and parking up next to white van man again.

-o-

Sam closed the book he had been reading, a relatively short work entitled _Out of Body, Into Dreams._ By the time he had finished skim reading the book, numerous pink post-its had appeared, poking out from between the book's pages. Each one marked a chapter or a part within a chapter that had interested him, and which he intended to read again, when he had the time. Strolling to a set of shelves, Sam picked another, thicker, book, _fpiritf, hagf and fatan truli witneffd._ Returning to his desk, Sam began to read again, pen and post-it pad on standby. Now that he was able to spend every minute of every day reading and learning, Sam couldn't be happier. Once he had completed his self imposed task, he planned to put the word out and any fellow Hunter needing to know anything at all to help them with a job, would soon learn that they should contact Sam Winchester, Man of Letters, the Hunter's Oracle. Sam smiled, quite liking his newly coined title. He saw himself as starting out on a journey towards becoming the most indispensable link there was for Hunters the world over, and in return, any and all written work they found that wasn't already in his library they would bring to him; and he would read everything they brought him, adding what he learned to his vast store of knowledge. Sam stroked the page he was reading, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sam's self esteem budded and began to bloom. _This_ was his destiny, his alone. He knew with certainty that he had, finally, stumbled on to his life's true purpose, and Sam eagerly embraced it.

 **-oOo-  
** **Request:** _Could someone who's reading please let me know if_ _this story shows up amongst the Supernatural fics listings pages  
_ _as I still don't see it anywhere when I look for it, but still haven't_ _had a response from fanfic support regarding this. Thanks,_ Chick xx  
Also, next chapter carries a warning!


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning - Chapter Contents "M" Rated  
** Threads - Chap 6  
-oOo-

Hazel glanced over as the door to the diner opened, smiling when she saw Dean enter. Tugging her apron straight, she scuttled over to him, threading her arm through his.

"This way Father. I've kept your booth clear for you."

Allowing himself to be led, Dean gave the young woman a puzzled smile.

"How did you know I'd be coming in again?"

Hazel gave his arm a quick squeeze.

"I _didn't_ know, but...Well, I was kinda hoping you would, so I kept the booth free just in case. And see? Here you are! How does coffee and the all day breakfast sound? On the house, obviously."

Sliding himself into the booth, Dean nodded.

"Breakfast sounds great, but no freebie's, I'd rather pay my way. I _do_ need to talk to you though Hazel, when you've time? There's something I need to tell you, ok?"

"Oh boy, you're making it sound horribly serious!"

"It is."

Hazel instantly frowned and glanced around at the other customers in the diner before answering.

"Ok. Porsche's on her break now, but soon as she's back, I'll arrange to take mine, that do?"

"Thanks yeah, that's great and...Call me Dean."

"Alright then... _Dean_. I'll go sort your order. You want the local paper again?"

-o-

Over his coffee, Dean took the opportunity to check out the diner and the current customers, paying more attention to detail than he had done previously, unable to shake his discomfort at having somehow found himself back in the same place. No matter how he looked at it, Dean simply couldn't account for how, after so many hours on the road, he'd ended up driving back here. Something _had_ to be going on., Dean stood up and headed for the exit, just about getting to the door, then finding himself suddenly stalled by Hazel skittering between him and the exit. Halting, she looking up at him worriedly.

"You're not goin' yet, are you Father? I thought you wanted to talk?"

"I do. And no, I'm just getting a notepad out the car, ok? I'll be right back."

Hazel looked relieved, as well as a touch embarrassed.

"Sorry, I don't...I'm sorry. Honestly, you must think I'm _sooo_ neurotic, and possibly a bit creepy, chasing after you like that. I'll...er...Go freshen up your coffee an' I'll bring you paper an' a pen. No need for you to go out into the cold, ok?"

Dean frowned at the nervous woman.

"Fine, but...You really think I was runnin' out on you?"

The waitress flushed.

"I...Er...I...I'll go get your refill.

Puzzled at how anxious Hazel appeared, Dean returned to his seat, watching as she virtually ran to refill his coffee and find paper and pen. Something was clearly scaring the young woman.

-o-

Porsche finally made her appearance, 10 minutes after her break should've ended, and Dean's eyebrows arched when he glimpsed the dour, plain looking and somewhat over heavy female, with her lacklustre hair scraped up into a much too tight topknot perched right on the top of her head, jiggling while the woman half stamped, half slouched, over to her first customer. He couldn't help but think that maybe her parents had named her after the car they had both wanted instead of a kid? Dean's eyebrows suddenly hiked even further toward the Heavens when he saw the woman smile at her customer. She had the kind of smile that took your breath away and seemed to light up the area around her. Already removing her apron, Hazel stopped to speak to the woman, nodding in Dean's direction. Porsche turned, glancing at Dean briefly before turning her attention back to her customer. Dean found himself oddly disappointed that she hadn't smiled at _him_. Hazel was laughing at Dean as she sat down next to him with two coffees.

"Don't worry, you're not the first to underestimate our Porsche. Honestly? That smile gets her more tips than anybody else, and she knows just how to use it! Breakfast is bein' fresh cooked for you. So...What d'you want to tell me?"

-o-

"Hazel? ... You plannin' on talkin' any time soon? ... I mean, _sure_ , most people are numbed when they hear about this stuff but eventually, usually, they make _some_ kinda sound; you know? Even if it's hysterical laughter, or just odd gurgling noises... _Hazel_?"

Hazel finally raised her head, turning to look Dean in the eyes.

"Please... _Swear_ to me that you're not just some good lookin' crazy deluded guy? Are you?"

"Well. I'm not gonna deny the first, but I don't think I'm crazy lock up crazy, an' I promise you, I've no delusions. So?"

Hazel's eyes scanned the diner, something Dean had noticed her doing quite often while he had been talking about Hunting.

"Earth to Hazel?"

Hazel slid herself to a different spot on the booth seating, leaving most of her back facing the rest of the diner. When she spoke, she kept her voice much quieter.

"Sorry...Listen Dean, this' _your_ second time comin' here. Have you noticed anything odd about this place?"

Dean's curiosity flared.

"Such as?"

Hazel gazed at him seriously.

"Ok, not countin' you 'cos this' only your second time, look around. All the other customers here today are the same ones as yesterday. An' They've been the same ones all the time I've been workin' here. But, like you were yesterday, there's a plus one an' while _you_ were a _lovely_ surprise. Today's newby _isn't_!"

Dean looked around the place, realising that there _was_ a certain familiarity about where the other customers sat.

"Ok. You got my attention, same customers comin' every day's unusual. What's the problem with the new one though?

"Behind me, three booths down. Do you see a tall guy? He's in the smart suit sat with the older couple? The guy with the dark beard?"

"I see him."

"That's my cousin, an' it's the first time he's been in here."

Dean was perplexed.

"Sorry, still not gettin' the problem with him bein' here."

Hazel rolled her eyes before answering using the kind of patient tone generally reserved for the slow of thinking.

"Because, Dean, I've only _got_ one cousin, an' he's the one you _must've_ read about in the paper yesterday? The article about the guy that suffocated himself? Well, he was my cousin. An' yet, my dear departed _dead_ cousin is sat three booths down, an' he's ordered an espresso and pancakes."

-o-

Dean stared hard at Hazel.

"You're windin' me up. You're takin' the piss 'cos you don't believe what I told you I do...

Leaning forward, Hazel shook her head and interrupted Dean with a hissed protestation.

"I swear, I'm not kiddin' an' I _do_ believe you! So right now, I'm askin' you to believe _me_. That man back there is Mr Charles Alder. _Deceased_."

Dean was stunned. According to the woman sat opposite him, her cousin was dead, in this diner, and seemingly had a liking for pancakes and strong coffee. A thought struck Dean and he glanced surreptitiously at those customers who were within his line of sight.

"Alright, that guy's dead, so, what about the rest?"

Hazel looked over her shoulder, giving Porsche a small smile when the other waitress noticed Hazel gazing her way. Turning back to Dean, she sighed.

"Like I said, it's the same customers day after day, an' they always sit in the same places. You tell me. Is that normal? Then there's Chef. Call me crazy, but there's been this couple of times when, I swear, his eyes have gone black! Not dark, but jet black, his whole eyes, completely black, like a fish's eye. First time it was so brief, I didn't take much notice but, the second time? I caught him starin' at Porsche when she was bent over, cleanin' up a spill. He didn't notice me, he was starin' so hard. His eyes were black then too, all the time he was starin' at her fanny."

Dean's head was spinning as he tried to digest everything he was hearing and to make sense of it. So far he'd got the place down as some kind of Ghost Central, which begged the question, how come _he_ was sitting here? A further question came to mind and his eyes narrowed as he considered Hazel. As a chat up line; Dean couldn't see himself getting very far with it. As an enquiry, he realised it could possibly come across as rather blunt, impolite even. But, given the current situation, Dean felt his next question was very appropriate .

"Hazel? Are you dead?"

Hazel mimicked Dean's narrow eyed gaze as she responded with

"Are _you_?"

-o-

Sam's stomach growled but he gave it no recognition, his mouth was dry but he ignored it, absorbed as he was in a book written about the Hindu gods. Once again his sticky notes poked out from between numerous of the book's pages. He now had a way of identifying what he thought, from the books he had read so far, were likely to be the most commonly referenced when he began receiving enquiries from Hunters. It was easy really, they were the books in which he had used the greater number of sticky notes. Sam had been pleased about the simplicity of the system he had contrived, and from that point on his use of sticky notes increased. His head had nodded a couple of times during his reading, so now Sam frequently dry swallowed caffeine pills to combat the attempts that unwanted sleep made to overcome him. Oracles don't sleep, they stay ready to answer all and any questions, whatever time of day or night. Sleep had no place, no purpose, in his new role. If it became necessary, he was prepared to utilise stronger drugs, not just herbal ones, to keep it at bay. Such was his devotion to his duty. Without food, or fluid, or sleep, his knew his body would be able to rid itself of toxins and, soon, it would become pure; as the body and mind of a _True_ Oracle ought to be.

-o-

Feeling again the pull of sleep tempting him, Sam stood up, stretching his long limbs and rolling his shoulders to ease the aches caused by maintaining the same position for such long periods. Bending down, he unlaced his trainers. Straightening again, he used the toes of each foot to prise and shove the old trainer off the other. Once he was barefooted, he wriggled both sets of toes deliciously, sighing at how good it felt now his feet were no longer constrained within the footwear. Looking down at his naked toes, Sam's lips curled up into a smile, which changed to a pout as he frowned, considering his clothing. Why should he set his feet free, and yet continue to cover and constrain the rest of his body? Didn't the whole of him deserve to feel such freedom?

-o-

Naked, Sam moved slowly through the library, his arms stretched out from his sides as he revelled in the sensation of being completely unencumbered. He enjoyed the feel of the smooth, cold floor beneath his feet, and stopped to experience the delicate touch of a cool draft that found it's way from the corridor and into the library through the fine gap between door and frame. Turning this way and that, he allowed the touch of the draft to travel and linger over different parts of his body, raising goose bumps on his forearms and stirring the beginnings of an erection. Sam reached down and ran one finger softly and slowly up the underside of his penis, from base to tip, watching fascinated as his penis twitched and jumped in response to the fragile touch, marvelling at how much this part of him could appear to have a life that was so independent and separate from him. Caressing himself delicately again, Sam shivered with pleasure and continued with the gentle, barely there strokes until he was fully erect. Lying down with his back on the hard floor, Sam began to move his free hand in lazy circles over his chest and stomach. Spreading his legs apart, he licked his lips and closed his eyes, continuing to massage his own upper body while moving his other hand back down to his penis, continuing teasing himself with the feather light touch up and down it's length. His breath hitched and his hips began to rotate of their own accord, reacting to his body's desire for the touch of his hand to become firmer, stronger. Sam refused to give in, maintaining his soft, lingering caresses, until finally he wasn't able to hold off any longer. Almost with a will of their own, his hips lifted up off the floor and Sam thrust them wantonly high into the air, groaning as, at last, he gave himself the permission to begin to working on himself in earnest.

-oOo-

If you could only see how much I'm blushing :( Chick xxxx  
I'm afraid Chap 7 is also **Adults Only**


	7. Chapter 7

A.N. Finally managed to crawl from under the rock of shame to post this :o  
 **Alert - "M" rated chapter content! Adults only please.**

Threads - Chap 7  
 _The madness and delusions triggered in Sam by the_ _creature grow, over-taking and squashing reality.  
_ -oOo-

Dean found himself not answering Hazel as confidently as he maybe should have.

"No, I guess. At least, I mean, I don't remember dieing..."

His words faded away as Dean experienced a momentary Technicolor flashback, re- living what he had been happy to think of at the time as his near collision with a tree. His heart seemed to skip a beat and, for a freeze frame within the fabric of time, he wondered?

"Hey! Are you ok?...Dean?...Hello?...Dean?"

Her voice finally cut through, and Dean forced himself to focus on Hazel again.

"I'm fine."

"Good. You looked like you'd zoned out on me there. Anyhow, in answer to your question, no, like you, I don't remember ever dieing, so I'm gonna count that as me still being alive."

Dean nodded his understanding.

"So, if we're accepting that neither of us are dead, how the Hell did you end up workin' here?"

At that, Hazel shrugged.

"The usual way. Drivin' past, saw a sign saying **_Staff Needed,_** so called in on the off chance, had a quick interview an' was given a job. When I first started I was in the kitchen, peeling and dicing veg. Porsche was already waitressing with another girl. When the other girl left they asked me if I'd waitress. Gotta be more interesting than chopping carrots eh? So, here I am. The pay's not bad an', well, there's always customers in."

Dean found himself struggling with how normal Hazel made it all sounded.

"When did you first notice it was always pretty much the same customers?"

"Let me think...Right, yeah. A couple of weeks ago."

Dean's eyebrows arched in surprise at how recently it was that the waitress had finally spotted something odd.

"Hazel? How long have you been workin' here?"

"Ah, now, let's see. In total? Nearly three weeks. The first week of it was my veg week in the back...

"An' she won't be makin' four weeks if she don't move her ass an' get doin' what she's paid to do instead'a sittin' around here yappin' with _you_! Round here Mister, coffee don't come with a cosy chat with the waitress thrown in! Ain't you got no friends?"

Dean looked up into the scowling face of Porsche as the realisation dawned on him that no, he _didn't_ have a whole load of friends any more. Those old friends he'd had, and whose homes he'd felt so welcome in, they had all gone. Even Castiel was around less and, amongst their fellow Hunters, Dean was isolated. The path he and Sam had walked was one that was far beyond the experiences of the "average" Hunter, and it had taken them both in a completely different direction to the community they had always thought themselves a part of. Disavowed by his own brother, Dean felt the shock of knowing that for all intents and purposes, he was now truly alone.

-o-

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Porsche's scowl faded and she was looking at him now with something more like curiosity. Dean found himself thinking it was the kind of curiosity you might see on a puma's face when it's trying to decide whether the thing it's looking at is edible or not and he stayed silent.

"I see you're waitin' for somebody. Well, I guess it's ok for you to wait a while. Ain't nobody ever said it's against the rules. 'Course, we ain't never had anybody here waitin' before either. I'll fetch your coffee over, an' a full breakfast was it? Hazel? Table number 10 wants to change their order, go sort 'em out, there's a darlin'."

-o-

Sam used his discarded shirt to cover the area on the floor where he had ejaculated, not wanting to risk slipping if he should walk through it with bare feet. As the True Oracle he had a duty to look after himself and to keep himself safe, otherwise who would the Hunters turn to when they were in need of guidance? He decided to choose another book and padded over to a shelf containing books devoted to unnatural nature, his eyes were drawn to a large red leather bound book, it's title picked out in metallic greys read _Thunderbirds - The Evidence._ He and the man who had once been his brother had, in the past, taken a job which had them both entering the lair of one of these creatures, and it very nearly finished them. Lifting the book down Sam carried it back to the desk he was working at. Climbing onto the desktop, Sam seated himself cross-legged at it's centre and eagerly opened the book, his precious sticky notes close at hand.

-o-

Dean had no idea what Porsche meant with regards to him waiting, but it gave him the excuse to stay in the hopes of being able to speak to Hazel again and maybe figure out what the Hell he had wandered into...Or been brought into. He gazed around at the other customers, reminding himself that these people he was sharing the diner with were all, apparently, dead. He turned his focus onto the "new" guy, Charles. Aside from himself, Charles was the only other person - _Ghost?-_ who was looking around _,_ his eyes making contact with Dean's. Inwardly Dean groaned when Hazel's cousin excused himself from his table, picked up his coffee and walked across to join Dean. Dean's eyes scanned the condiments, for the first time noticing that salt wasn't amongst them.

"Hey man, is it ok if...?"

Reluctantly, Dean nodded.

"Go ahead, though I warn you I'm not feelin' much like company right now."

"Right, gotcha."

Charles eagerly sat himself down opposite Dean.

"Some kinda whacked out place this is, eh?"

"How d'you mean? Foods ok, waitresses are...Mostly...Friendly."

"Not my idea of Heaven though."

Dean's interest shot up the scale.

"Come again?"

"Well, it's pleasant enough I guess, but I'm used to places that have quite a bit more class than this joint...Name's Charles...How'd you get here?"

Dean instantly played the dumb card.

"Drove here. I look like a backpacker to you?"

Taking no offence, Charles in fact looked inordinately pleased, while he scanned the car park through the window behind Dean.

"Your car out there then?"

Dean nodded, waiting to see where the guy took the conversation, though he had a feeling he already knew what was coming next.

"That's great...So...Er...Gimme the keys. _Now_ pal."

Dean gazed at the piece of cutlery, a standard stainless steel knife that had never come close to being sharp, in Charles' hand. _Ok, wasn't quite expecting that one!_ Looking at Charles' determined face, Dean gave him a quizzical stare.

"Or what? You plannin' on butterin' me to death, _pal_?"

-o-

Without taking his eyes off the book he was reading, Sam reached for another sticky note, his hand feeling nothing but the wooden desk top. Keeping a finger in the page he was on, he glanced around the whole of the desk top. There were no sign of any sticky notes anywhere on the desk, he tipped forward and peered on the floor around and under the desk without success. When he straightened up again, Sam found himself feeling distinctly dizzy and light headed, as well as irritated by the lack of sticky notes; how was he supposed to work without the right tools and equipment? Jumping down off the desk, Sam strode across to the library door, unlocked it and went out into the corridor, heading for the kitchen. His calling out of Dean's name sounded husky and rasping, the impact of his parched mouth and throat due to his belief that he need not waste good reading time on drinking, nor on eating, and in not sleeping. Reaching the kitchen, Sam stared around, searching with his eyes, there were no signs of the supposed partner. Just to be sure, Sam checked the inside the kitchen cupboards and the inside of the refrigerator. Finally convinced his sticky note stealing ex-brother wasn't there, he stormed down to Dean's bedroom. Throwing open the door, he walked in.

" _You little shit_! Gimme back my sticky notes, or I _swear_ I'll kill you dead!"

Standing in the silence, Sam's increasingly confused mind took a while to register that Dean had gone. Left him. Wasn't here in the bunker. He had departed. Probably gone in search of some gullible female to screw. Sam angrily threw himself down onto the top of his brother's bed, his thoughts on his lack of sticky notes, one hand again stroking himself softly. The sensation was soothing, comforting, and lying there on Dean's bed, Sam again fulfilled his own needs and desires.

-o-

Sam watched the arc of his semen through half shuttered eyes while writhing and gasping through his self induced orgasm, feeling pleased at himself for discovering so effective a way of ridding his body of more toxins. He told himself that this type of cleansing needed to be carried out in order that he could become completely pure. With his erection gone, Sam knelt up on Dean's bed, Looking down at himself, he began to patiently encourage his penis to rise again from the dead, and participate in ridding the body it belonged to of further contaminants.

-o-

Wearily exiting Dean's room, Sam was finding it extremely hard not to close his eyes and give in to the demands on his body for sleep. He needed to shake this weak limbed, tired eyed sensation. Once out in the corridor, Sam began to jog along it and back, quickly beginning to sweat as he drove one foot in front of the other. And yet he jogged on, toxins and salt now trickling out of his body, until even the soles of his bare feet began to leave damp prints as he ran and his breathing turned to heavy panting through a mouth hanging open and slack. Forcing himself to carry on, sweat poured into his eyes, impacting on already blurring and, unnoticed by Sam, darkening vision. He began to stumble occasionally, but continually refused to stop and rest until, in the end, he collapsed to the floor as he ran.

-o-

Lying on the floor, breathless and exhausted, Sam soon tried to clamber back up onto his feet, getting nearly half way upright, only to then collapse back down to the floor again. On the third time Sam fell, he stayed there, eyes closed and his body unmoving except for the quick rise and fall of his chest.

-oOo-  
Chap 8 also comes with warnings I'm afraid! (Groan - No pun intended)  
Chick xxxxx


	8. Chapter 8

**WARNING - "M" rated chapter content.  
** _Going back under my rock now_. Chick xxxx

Threads - Chap 8  
-oOo-

Dean's hand shot forwards, snatching the knife out of Charles' grasp. He gazed at the man in some sympathy.

"Sorry, I don't appreciate bein' threatened, even by a blunt knife...I assume _you_ didn't drive here?"

Charles stared at the knife which was now in Dean's hand and, for one terrible moment, Dean wondered if the man was about to cry. To Dean's relief, Charles managed to gather himself together, buoyed by the fact that his stranger who he had just attempted to threaten wasn't presenting as overly distressed or outraged by the event. Charles sighed, putting his head in his hands. Something had happened to him, he could sense it, but he couldn't put his finger on what, except that he felt like he was missing some time out of his life. As to the diner,

"I don't _know_ how I ended up here mate, all I know is I don' wanna stay...I gotta get back home."

"So why not do what most people would do? Leave. Start walking by the side of the road, an' hitch a ride?"

Charles turned to stare at the door to the outside world, then looked back at Dean. The expression on the man's face suggested he was battling to solve some internal puzzle.

"Um...I, er. I never thought of doing that...I don't know why, I'd got it in my head I'd have to fight my way out an' steal a ride...Too much time gamin' maybe? Sendin' me all G.T.A...Look, thanks man, an' I'm really sorry about the...um...knife thing. See you around."

-o-

Dean watched with acute interest as Charles strolled up to the main doors of the diner. The man reached for the handle, and right on cue, Porsche appeared at his side coming seemingly out of nowhere. Dean had expected something of the sort would happen, but being right didn't give him cause for any celebrations.

"Well now, Mr Alder. You wouldn't be tryin' to leave without payin' would you? I'm guessin' it just slipped your mind? Anyway, you don't wanna go yet. You haven't had a desert. Chef's made a beautiful cheesecake today, it's out of this world, you really ought to try some before you get on your way."

As Dean watched Porsche speaking to him, the man appeared to grow confused, patting his pockets and looking longingly in the direction of the kitchen.

"Um...No...I wasn't leavin', I'm lookin' for the facilities."

Porsche smiled that smile at the man, and captured Charles' attention completely. Dean could see in his face, the man had forgotten any ideas about leaving.

"Ah, I see. Well, the gent's is back that way. Shall I order you some cheesecake in the meantime? It's to die for."

Charles nodded eagerly.

"Cheesecake yeah, that would be lovely! Any chance of another latté too?"

Porsche was still smiling.

"Of course honey, whatever you want. It'll be waiting for you when you're done. Alright?"

-o-

Blanking Dean as if they had never spoken, and he hadn't so recently tried to intimidate Dean into giving up the Impala, Charles happily walked straight past Dean's booth and headed off to the men's room. Curious as to what her reaction might be, Dean caught Porsche's eye and beckoned her to come on over. Her smile vanished and she narrowed her eyes as she, very slowly and grudgingly, made her way to where Dean sat. Her voice was pitched at just the right level of boredom and dislike to make anyone else feel very unwelcome.

"Yes? ... _Sir_? Somethin' you're wantin'?"

"Yeah sweetheart, there is. I was just wonderin', what's gonna happen when _I_ decide it's time to leave Porsche?"

The waitress' expression didn't alter in any way.

"I'm sorry. Your question don't' make any sense, I haven't got a clue what you mean?"

Dean very blatantly slowed down his rate of speech, talking to her as if he was trying to communicate a complex idea to a moron.

"Imagine I, that's me, I've done eatin', an 'then I've paid my bill with this thing called money, ok? Then I walk to the door...That one over there, see? I _open_ the door 'cos I'm goin' outside to get in my car an' drive away. Do you think anythin' will happen when I try to get outside?"

Porsche arched one eyebrow and folded her arms as she answered. Her voice now dripping with sarcasm.

"Well now, that depends. We can go with the straight forward _Have a nice day_ as you go. Sorta like yesterday...Or, I _s'pose_ we could all hold the door open for you, then wave an' have everybody sing some crappy goodbye song till you're out of sight? If you'd rather, it could very quickly be a free drinks night for everybody else to _celebrate_ you leavin'? At a push, I s'ppose I could arranged for a synchronised swimmin' display to help say so-long? Would any of these be ok by you... _Sir_?"

Dean grinned widely, showing no concern at the woman's tone.

"I dunno. Can you guarantee the synchronised swimmers will all be wearing teeny tiny little bikini's?"

-o-

Porsche looked at Dean steadily, her expression now blank, void of any emotions.

"You let me know _any_ time you're ready to go. I'll have your bill ready immediately, an' I'll even happily walk you to the door. Trust me."

Dean maintained his cheery tone.

"That's good to know sweetheart. Don't need you to go to all that trouble yet though, I'm stickin' around a bit yet. This' an interestin' place. Any idea what time Hazel's next break's due?"

The eyes narrowed further still, making it clear the woman wasn't happy for him to be planning on talking to Hazel again.

"I wouldn't know, you can see we're very busy. Could be that she might not even _get_ another break...Your meal should be ready for you now, I'll go get it."

-o-

Dean tucked into his all day breakfast while looking for Charles coming out of the gent's toilet. By the time he had managed to finish his meal, there was still no sign of Hazel's cousin. Pushing his empty plate away, Dean stood up and strolled towards the gents, closing in on it, he was overtaken by Porsche, physically nudging him aside with the cleaning trolley she was pushing and which she then used to effectively block his entry into the toilet. She stared at Dean challengingly.

"I'd advise against going in there if I were you. There's been a _very_ nasty accident. We wouldn't want you to wadin' into a whole pile of _shit_ now, would we?... _Sweetheart_?"

As if blissfully unaware of the antagonistic waitress' phrasing, Dean gave her a pleading look.

"Actually, I'm really desperate... _So_...?"

"No problem. The women's toilets are empty, you can use them...Here you go and don't worry, I'll be standin' guard right outside. I promise I won't go anywhere till you're done."

Dean couldn't think of a reasonable argument that would guarantee his entry into the men's, so with a overly sweet smile at Porsche, he entered the realm of the ladies loo.

-o-

The first thing to strike him was how non smelly it was compared to male toilets. He guessed the lack of urinals helped. Then he noticed the soap dispensers that did so much more than snot burps of liquid soap out. There was also a nozzle for hand cream, and another for facial moisturiser. In a decorative basket that sat on the faux marble surface under the dryers, Dean spotted all kinds of female pampering things. Hairspray, cleansing wipes, perfumed deodorant, a vintage brush and comb set, hair ties, lengths of different coloured ribbons, hair gel and wax. There was even a bottle of spray on perfume, a hairdryer and curling tongues that were hanging off the wall away from the sinks and, finally, a small jar half full of coins that had been dropped in to purchase new items as the old ran out! What surprised him most of all was that the items were clearly being used, but then put back, and the half full donation jar containing actual money, was still there. Wandering into a cubical, Dean found himself wondering why male toilets weren't maintained to the same standard and, actually, why bother with urinals in the men's, instead of just having cubicles? Dean did the necessary, washed his hands, and made use of the pot of hair wax, spending some time messing with the front of his hair. There was a rapid series of knocks on the door, startling him into dropping the pot of wax onto the floor tiles with clatter.

"You needin' any help in there?"

"Um...No, I'm fine. Be out in a sec."

-o-

When Dean opened the door to exit, Porsche's gaze travelled instantly to his hair and she smirked, saying nothing. In part to hide his embarrassment, Dean questioned her about Charles.

"What happened to the guy I was talking to? I never saw him come out of the gents, is there a back exit in there?"

Porsche gave a _who care's_ shrug of her shoulders.

"Like I said, there's been a nasty accident in there. The man left in a hurry while you hung out in the ladies, preenin' an' pampering yourself."

-o-

Sam slowly woke up, cold and at first confused as to why he had taken to sleeping, naked, on the floor of one of the bunkers' numerous corridors? When he _did_ remember what he had been doing, his confusion turned to anger at himself for being weak willed and giving in when sleep called out to him. Despite his shivering in the cold air, as a self inflicted punishment for straying from the path to his due destiny, Sam refused to give himself even the small comfort of a blanket to wrap around his shoulders. Instead, with teeth chattering, he returned to the library intent on continuing, and succeeding in, his self made quest. He reminded himself that it had been a little over 48 hours since he accepted the mantle of the True Oracle, his drive towards perfecting himself had really only just begun. He vowed to himself that he would _not_ fail in his journey again, to do so would be to show himself as being unworthy, something he could not accept.

-o-

With renewed determination, Sam selected a further book. Covered in black leather and standing at around A1 in size, Sam chose to squat down on the floor with the book. He opened it up reverently, delighted and wholly appreciative of the hours of labour and the artistic skill of the author in producing the illuminated and handwritten tome. He traced over the title page with his index finger, silently mouthing the Latin title, translating it in his head. _Releget Lubricam_ _Ligaveris_ _et_ _Dominabitur Humili Gradu_ _Daemones._ ****** The paper inside the book had that wonderful scent of discovery and learning, and Sam breathed it in deeply, the book's odour instantly bringing to mind his favourite libraries, and then it was drawing him in further with it's promise to bestow new and useful knowledge onto the reader. Sam's face became angry again when he recalled the lack of sticky notes, he was most certainly going to need to mark pages and passages of _this_ book. An idea occurred to him and he jogged back to his room and into the ensuite. Grabbing the toilet roll off it's hanger, he happily jogged back to the library, feeling pleased with his own inventiveness.

-o-

Sitting on the floor with the book, Sam began to work his way through the Latin script, decorating numerous pages, each with a square of toilet tissue. Fascinated, he marvelled at just how many binding spells the book contained, each one with a different purpose, whether to bind a daemon to an individual to act as their personal squire, or bind a daemon to a place, or bind a daemon to an object. Until they were tested, there was no proof that any of the spells within the book were authentic, but they certainly looked real enough and would provide an invaluable point of reference for him as the True Oracle. Gazing around at shelf after shelf of rare and valuable books, the Oracle couldn't recall a time when he had been happier or felt more fulfilled. Standing upright, he began to randomly pull book after book down of the shelves, throwing them to the floor near the illuminated book. With these, there was no query the Oracle felt he couldn't answer. Every Hunter would know of him, turn to him, look to him for guidance. They would rely on him, honour him, revere him; and He Who Never Slept would humbly accept their adorations, their gifts and their fealty.

-o-

Grinning madly, Sam stretched both arms up into the air and began to spin, whirling wildly around and around, hair whipping his face, laughing out loud. When he came to a stop, the after effects of his crazed twirling left Sam staggering and weaving drunkenly before his legs finally gave way, depositing him on his rear end on top of the haphazardly strewn books. Sam flopped backwards over the books and lie giggling, uncaring that some were the only remaining copies of their kind, and that there were others whose value put them beyond a price that any single person could afford to pay. Instead he took delight in rolling and squirming amongst them. He grabbed hold of one that was bound in soft calf skin. Opening the book at it's centre, he moved it's open pages up his torso and onto his face where he sniffed at and licked the ancient paper, one hand stroking himself across his chest, moving down to rub circles over his stomach before once again reaching further down to pleasure himself. His back arched and he howled aloud as his climax came hard and fast, hot fluid splattering down onto the books nearest his groin.

-o-

Panting in ecstasy, Sam stretched luxuriously, cat like, sated and content within his insanity, not caring that his lips were dry and flaking, or that his skin had lost much of it's elasticity. He accepted the now consistent headache as being the result of taking in so much information, his blurring vision as his eyes adapting to not needing to be closed in sleep. The persistent fine tremor in his limbs, the vertigo on standing and the gnawing dull ache in his stomach he felt was to be expected as a result of his body's rejection of and intolerance towards any toxins still standing in his path to cleansing and purification. He had tried to induce vomiting to speed up his cleansing, but was unable to eject anything other than the smallest amount of bile. His masturbation though was proving a very viable, and pleasing, alternative method of expunging the foul waste of his life before the recognition of his true nature.

-o-

Excited by the continuing success of this method, Sam remained lying where he was and, bending his knees he drew his legs up, planting his feet wide apart on his bed of books, he patiently began to probe, stroke and massage, his breathing hitching, becoming heavier whilst he reminded himself that this was a necessary act that he needed to undergo in order to aid in the banishing of all that was bad out of his body. Closing his eyes, he groaned as he felt his ministrations starting to have the desired effect, his breathing quickened and he rolled onto his stomach, rubbing his groin in amongst the books at the same time as he began to slowly move one hand up and down the length of his penis, whilst manipulating his testicles with the other, happy to make this time take longer than the last, knowing that, alone in this place, he would have lot's of opportunities to go with the fast, hard fuck style of detox should he so wish.

 ****** To Banish, Bind and Rule Low Level Daemons.  
-oOo-  
 _You can all open your eyes now, that was the last of the_ _ **Samcentric**_ _"_ _M" rated chapters_ ;p Chick xxxx


	9. Chapter 9

THREADS - Chap 9  
-oOo-

Dean needed some space to get his head around what the Hell he was caught up in. He also wanted to test whether he would, in fact, be allowed to leave this place a second time? Especially given his apparent unpopularity with Porsche. He waited until Hazel came out of the back kitchen carrying a tray of food and Porsche was busy taking another order before standing and making his way to the till, making sure it was Hazel's eye he caught. Indicating to her that he wished to settle up, Hazel frowned but nodded her head to confirm she had seen him and she would be over once the food was delivered.

-o-

"Dean? Hi. You sure you need to leave? I'd been hopin' you'd hang around till my next break?"

Dean shook his head.

"I need to get some air, have a drive around and think some things through."

Hazel curled up one side of her top lip and frowned at him, to her mind there wasn't a whole lot that needed thinking about, and she didn't hesitate to point this out to Dean.

"What things? I'd have thought it was pretty clear? I'm askin' Chef to cook pancakes for a dead cousin. I'm actually thinkin' I might be workin' in some kinda dead dude's diner! You said your job is helping people, so hear this. _I...Need...Your...Help_!"

Dean gazed at Hazel thoughtfully before he answered her.

"Let me ask you this, Hazel. Do you? Do you _really_ need my help? I didn't see you bein' freaked out very much by the appearance of your dead cousin, it's almost like you're used to seein' ghosts? I gotta wonder, are you a part of this... _Whatever_ it is? You sure seem to fit in here., an' I haven't seen you rushing to quit. Tell me this Hazel. What happens when your shift's over? Have you got a home to go to? Or do you by any chance bed down here? Which is it?"

Hazel had stared at Dean open mouthed throughout his response, now however, she looked at him angrily, virtually spitting her hissed whisper answer at him

"How _dare_ you? I'm askin' for _help_. Why would I do that if I _belonged_ with this lot? And anyway _, you_ don't belong, but you're here too, for the _second_ time. How am I s'posed to know _you're_ not just a dead man walkin'? And yes, they let me sleep in the back, so what? It's only till I find a place of my own. As to not freakin' when my dead cousin wandered in, maybe I'm too afraid to draw any attention to myself? Had you thought of that? And what's wrong with bein' good at my job? It doesn't make me a part of this. Believe me, I get that this place ain't right, but runnin' away? Way I see it, that might bring them all after me...So yeah, I try to be friendly an' polite; 'cos inside? I'm _petrified!_ I'm too damn scared to try to get away on my own. Then, guess what? Along comes you with your wild story that you just dump on me an' I'm thinkin' _He sounds like he could help me_! But, if you don't want to? Fine. Hope you have a nice life, _Hunter man_!"

-o-

Hazel's volume had increased as she spoke, and her final sentence drew the attention both of Porsche and the smartly dressed group of one woman and three men who's orders she had been collecting. The five glared at Dean and a silence began to spread throughout the rest of the diner's customers as they quickly picked up that something interesting was possibly happening. Dean glanced around, forcing a pleasant smile on his face. Maintaining a casual air, he focused back no Hazel, noting the change in her, from anger to fear. Dean spoke to the waitress in a voice loud enough for all the diner's clientele to hear and adopting a stereotype game hunter's twang for good measure.

"I'm real sorry I've upset you Miss. But like I said, I'm just hunt wildlife as a hobby. I'm not a professional pest control officer. So, if you bin seein' rats, you're gonna have to get somebody in 'cos I can't help you. Maybe one of these good folk?...I hope this don't mean I'm not welcome? I'd like to visit again...Real soon if that's ok?"

Despite her rocketing concern, Dean was relived to see Hazel's small nod conveying she understood his intention to return. Dean then nodded to his audience, instantly alert to the fact that Porsche had gone. _Dammit!_ Dean knew he had to move, quickly.

"Ladies...Gents. You all be sure too have a nice day now."

-o-

Reaching the door, Dean felt that distinct and uncomfortable tingle between his shoulder blades that told him something was behind him and closing in. The reflection in the door glass suggested it was a mobile mountain of some sort. He reached for the door handle with his left hand, while driving his right elbow backwards, feeling it hit in the centre of the mountain's chest, and keep sinking, causing no corresponding sound to indicate that he had just managed to knock the breath out of it. Instead, two huge and grossly podgy hands landed heavily, one on each of Dean's shoulders, and yanked him backwards at the same time as Dean managed to push the diner door open towards the outside world a fraction.

"You ain't left no tip, little man."

The hands forcibly spun the Hunter 180 degrees around. Dean had two, almost simultaneous, thoughts. One being that when he pulled the door open a touch, he clearly saw it was night time on the outside of the diner, meaning the daylight streaming in through the windows and the glass of the door was an illusion. The second thought was a string of internalised cussing when he spotted the four people Porsche had been serving were now all on their feet and moving down the aisle, looking eager to help out the man who had just hauled him away from the door. Dean needed to break free from the Incredible Bulk, get himself some space to work.

-o-

Instead of moving forward and trying to tug free from the man's grip, or pointlessly sticking an elbow into the waterbed of a gut, Dean went for the less expected move, dropping straight down, slipping through the man's fingers, and going smoothly for a classic leg sweep. The manoeuvre put him in a position to see for the first time the mountain that had stopped him from leaving. Dressed in what should have been a set of whites but were more a dirty greyish yellow colour, the man headed floor-ward, the cook's hat the guy wore slid to sit lopsidedly over his round head when he landed. Swiftly regaining his feet, Dean was astounded. The sheer bulk of the man was enough to convince Dean that, under no circumstances, could the thing be human.

"Dean! _Look out_! ... Back off all of you. Leave him alone!"

-o-

At Hazel's warning shout, Dean realised that the super-sized chef's tag team had probably arrived, and he turned back around quickly, directly into a powerful right fist to the jaw, sending him helplessly down onto one knee. From his half kneeling position, Dean saw a forest of legs homing in on him, convincing him that virtually every customer in the place had decided to join the party. Disorientated, he accepted his chances of coming out the winner as being somewhere between nil and zero. He was desperately attempting to locate the direction of the exit door when the first kick came his way. He grabbed the boot before it landed, hearing a satisfying _crack_ and it's owner scream hoarsely when he sharply twisted the foot, neatly snapping the ankle. From there on, he found himself having to concentrate on defensive moves against an onslaught which swiftly had him overpowered and fully down on the floor, curled up and protecting himself with his arms as best he could. Hands reached down and grabbed hold of him, rolling him onto his back and pinning his arms out to either side, exposing him to a barrage of kicks and blows. The last thing he heard above his own grunts of pain was Hazel's sobbing and screaming, as she pleaded for the attack on Dean to end..

-o-

Sam curled himself up into a foetal position. For a while now his hands and feet had begun to feel colder than the rest of him, and the muscles in his stomach had begun to contract with pain. An attempt to clamber to his feet and move had resulted in his passing out. Afraid it may happen again, Sam remained lying on the library floor, hoping to eventually gather enough strength to be able to stand without fainting. He moaned as his stomach clenched in pain again and wrapped his arms around his middle. His breathing was becoming heavier, faster; he assumed it was because of the pain caused by the internal changes he was experiencing and that he viewed as necessary in his becoming The One True Oracle. Eventually the muscle contractions spread, first into his thighs and from there they began to effect his arms and his back, causing his body to twitch and jerk. He remained oblivious, however, to his increasing pulse rate, and to the blue tinge which had begun to spread through his lips. His extreme dehydration meant that Sam's body was starting to fail him. Sam was dieing, and still he remained completely ignorant of the fact.

-o-

He was standing in a place of perfect dark, some sixth sense telling him that there were no walls confining him, there was only the black; a black without end. Motionless, he reached out with all his senses, trying to assess whether he was alone. He felt no warmth to suggest anyone was standing close by him, heard no sounds of another's breathing, could smell nothing, not a person nor animal or vegetation; not even the air around him. Wherever he was, it felt less like a place and more like an absence.

-o-

Never one to stand still for long unless necessary, he cautiously tested the way ahead with one foot. That small movement seemed to act as a trigger, leading to a very brief flash of something that was either very small, or some way off in the distance. Another flash. Squinting into the distance, He finally saw a thin tendril of blue white light had appeared, and it began to stretch itself out, hesitantly threading it's delicate way towards him. Dean held himself still and waited. The light continued to steadily extend and lengthen, glowing brighter the closer it got to Dean. Less than a foot away and at waist high to Dean, the narrow light came to a halt. For a while Dean did nothing, and the intensity of the light gradually began to fade a little at a time. It occurred to Dean that maybe it needed him to respond in some way to it's presence?

-o-

Without knowing that he was holding his breath, Dean reached out towards it with one hand. The light instantly flared more brilliant than before and shot towards Dean's outstretched hand. The light began weaving itself in and out of his fingers, spreading a warmth up Dean's arm. Inside his own head Dean heard a single, crystal clear word, it's power, despair, need and longing tearing like a shockwave through his brain...

 _Brother!_

-oOo-  
Chick xxx  
Further warning on C10 (No, not worn out Sam again, **_or_** Dean!) :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Warning - Chapter includes one "M" rated scene.  
** _(The last of them, I think)_

Threads - Chap 10  
-oOo-

Other noises began tip-toeing their way through into Dean's darkness, at first sounding like the faint hum of bees arguing who was to blame for them being out after dark? Slowly the sound transformed into the indistinct murmuring of voices. Dean recognised with a spike of panic that he was beginning to drift back to consciousness, gradually running out of time. Virtually all his life he had known about this, felt it's pull, responded to it over and over again. Now, whether crazy, real or dreaming, Dean didn't know for sure, but he instinctively closed his hand tightly over the light, startled when it's brilliance flared further, dazzling him and filling him with the knowledge that what had been severed, was now re-joined. Awe struck by the radiance of the renewed bond between them, Dean had to remind himself of the reason it had sought him out. Sammy, his brother, needed him.

-o-

Unable to resist his ascent towards wakefulness, the Dean that stood alone in the dark gave the illuminated thread a cautious tug and, as if it were two tin cans joined by a long piece of string, he envisioned a hurriedly conceived message travelling at the speed of light from himself, along the length of the glowing connection, and back to Sam

 _Use the force Luke. Come to the dark side!_

The voices around him were louder, much more distinct. Flying into consciousness, Dean could only hope that his message reached his brother and that Sam could, somehow, respond.

-o-

The voices were clear now, Dean recognised one as belonging to Porsche, the other, male, voice was unfamiliar. Conscious, Dean never-the-less kept his eyes closed and remained quiet.

"I got another three wantin' cheesecake Chef. There enough ready?"

"Yup, in the refrigerator, all set to go. You can tell _all_ of 'em out there they're gettin' some, a thanks like, for helpin' out. On the house."

"You sure 'bout that Chef?"

"Trust me woman. They hear somethin's for free? They're guaranteed to want some, an that thing tastes like a wet dream. I've got it dosed up good. Don't want any more of 'em thinkin' they can just up an' leave, do we?"

Porsche laughed and Dean heard the refrigerator door being opened while Porsche talked.

"How's our green eyes doin'?"

The chef glanced over to where Dean lay motionless across a narrow table.

"Him? The douche's awake, just thinks I'm too dumb to know it...Oh dear, _that's_ upset him. Shame...Go on over an' say hi, but I'm warnin' you, don' you be tempted to go doin' anythin' permanent at him. I've sent word up to the next level 'bout him an' what they want done. No answer yet. Soon as there is, I'll be sure an' tell you how far you can go...Provided I get me a front row seat.! An speakin' of, _woman._ Before you get to deliverin' cheesecake? I'm gonna let you do me one. Get to it."

-o-

The sudden change in Porsche's voice to much lower and huskier surprised Dean however, the sound of a zip being pulled open and quickly followed by a groan from the chef, surprised and dismayed him more. Dean grimaced, immediately squeezing his eyes closed tighter and wishing he had the freedom of movement to stick his fingers in his ears. He had no desire to see, or to hear, any kind of porn freak show starring the she-devil and the grotesquely, inhumanly, obese chef.

-o-

"A favour huh? An' what might _that_ be, Big Boy? You gettin' a little heat on? 'Cos Mamma Bear's got just the cure for her Honey Bear...Here...Now, how's _that_ feel? "

Porsche's enquiry was met with a deeper groan from the chef.

Good huh?...So, how about Mamma have a taste of what big bad Chef's got cookin' down there? You want me to? You want it an' ready for it?"

"Oh Mamma! Yeah I wan' it, I... _Ahhh_ baby girl, yeah... _Shit_! That's one hot little tongue you've... _Ohhhhh_ ,...That's it babe... Now, how about you look up an' you open that big mouth wide Mamma Bear, 'cos _this_ Honey Bear's gonna mouth fuck you senseless...

" _People!_...Or whatever...Man tryin' to catch up on some sleep over here!"

Dean's input was completely ignored by the pair, but that kind of response rarely put him off.

"That's my good girl, my deep, wet throated girl. Now _have it!_...An' again honey. Papa Bear's gonna go down deep...Real deep...

" _Good grief_! Take it somewhere else can't you? How about the men's toilet? An' what the Hell happened to _Food Hygiene_ around here?"

"You're gonna get it _all_ down you nasty bitch, gonna fill you so's you can't breath. Wanna feel you choke on it...Wider, I wanna hear you crack that sweet jaw an' I'm gonna shove my big fat balls in that huge mouth...Oh crap! _Fuck_!...

"Somebody. _Anybody_? _Pleeease_? Do me a favour, stick some cotton wool in my ears."

"S'right. Get that hot little tongue working them mother's girl, or I'm gonna push your head back an shove my dick an' balls so hard an' so far down that throat I promise you, I'm gonna snap that pretty, pretty little neck of yours...

"Jeeze!...Good to know there's still some sweet talkin' romance left round here."

-o-

While Dean continued to throw around the odd comment, he was also making use of the pair's diversion to work at loosening the ropes binding him. A brief exploration told him that his neck, arms and down to the backs of his knees were securely tied to the top of a table. The table, however, was too short to accommodate all of him, so from the knees down, his legs hung over the edge of the table, each ankle having been secured to a separate table leg. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions he had ever been restrained in, making him keenly aware of the newly acquired aches, pains and bruises that were the result of the beating he had received. It was hard for him to tell whether his failure to loosen even one knot was the result of his weakened state, or because whoever had tied him down had made absolutely sure there was no give in the restraints. Happily, and to Dean's everlasting relief, the chef was quick to hit his high note and this was followed soon after by the sound of his zip being refastened.

"Thanks woman, you did good. You earned yourself an extra break later...

" _Oi_! One of you cretins. Fetch a bowl over here _quick_...I gotta _puke_!"

The chef slapped Porsche's backside while she spat into the sink before using one of the kitchen cloths to wipe the last of the Chef's deposits from around her swollen mouth.

"Have yourself some fun, go check on our chatty scrapper over there an' when you're through, look in on the slut in the freezer. See if she's ready to get back on the job, or if she needs more coolin' off time. If she's good to go? You tell her to report to me first. I'll be waitin' for her in the rest room. I don't want no disturbances while I give her an overdue, um... _Induction_ session."

"Yes Chef."

-o-

The sound of her footsteps on the tiled kitchen floor heralded Porsche's arrival and Dean glared up at her in cold disgust when she came into view. Porsche returned his glare with loathing in her eyes and a closed lipped smile.

"Enjoy the show did you?"

"No, can't say I did, but then I've never been a big fan of freak shows, however brief."

The stinging slap to Dean's face didn't manage to dislodge the icy look he continued to direct towards the woman.

"I'm guessin' it's pointless to hope a dirty, low life skank like you bothered to wash those hands before draggin' your ugly ass on over here? It's not like Mr Morbidly Obese has the kinda looks that let him be real fussy about the hygiene standards of any hags he gets."

Porsche glanced over her shoulder at where the chef had his back to them, checking on whatever he'd got cooking in the catering sized oven. Turning back to Dean, Porsche slid an arm beneath Dean's tee, skimming the palm of her hand up to the centre of his chest whilst Dean glared up at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line of distaste. She leaned over him and stared directly into his eyes, her own face pinched with anger. As she spoke, she gouged her nails down Dean's torso, Dean's only sign that he felt any discomfort being to press his lips together harder.

"You're lucky Chef said nothin' permanent, for now. But, soon as we get word what to do 'bout you? I'll get right back to you, I promise."

Dean growled his answer to the waitress.

"Get your dirty hands off me you ugly piece of shit. Lucky for me I've already had my anti-rabies shots. Oh, an' if you plan on ever gettin' in my face again?...

Dean turned his head slightly to one side, away from Porsche.

...Before you do? Do me a favour an' try brushin' your teeth; your breath stinks worse than a dead skunk's rottin' ass!"

Porsche's eyes narrowed but she said nothing, straightening up and walking away from him. Dean watched her go until she disappeared into what looked like a store room which, Dean assumed, was home to the freezer.

-oOo-


	11. Chapter 11

**_A.N. Going to be posting chapters more frequently to get the completed story out before going into hospital Monday for 5 days of tests.  
_** ** _Did you_** ** _know that 5 days here is the equivalent to 5 months in there? Still, at least it's my other half that's taking me there, not a Hell Hound  
_** Small " **m** " Warning - Implied rape/torture (Not graphic)

Threads - Chap 11

-oOo-

Staring into the oven and feeling satisfied that everything in there was doing what it should be doing cooking wise, the chef straightened up and began untying his apron, strolling towards Dean as he removed it. Stopping to gaze down at the captive, he gave Dean a friendly wink.

"You wanna watch your mouth with that one lad. Don't let that angel smile fool you. She's one evil twisted bitch, an' you already got yourself on her bad side. I'm bettin' whatever 'appens, you gonna regret walkin' in here...How'd you manage to get your scrawny ass into this joint anyways?"

Dean attempted and failed to shrug.

"Parked up an' used the door. You know, usual route. But _hey_...If I'm not the kinda customer you like here, untie me an' I promise I'll leave!"

"Funny guy huh? Well, you just keep on smilin' pal, while you still can. Oh, F.Y.I.? I'm gonna be havin' me some good fun with your friend Hazel soon as she's out the freezer. She's gonna be screwed _before_ I fuck her You just keep yourself entertained imaginin' what I'm gonna do to that cow. I _guarantee_ , what she gets is gonna be waaay worse than anythin' you can come up with. See, I got me some real _special_ interests. Course, that juicy piece o' trash might not've been about to find that out for herself if _you_ hadn't shown your face round here. You might wanna think on that while I'm doin' her... Tell you this much, dipshit, I'm intendin' there's not gonna be much left inside that works proper after _I'm_ through with her!"

The chef walked away laughing as Dean writhed and fought in earnest against his bonds, all the while throwing curses and threats after the overweight chef's rear view.

-o-

Hazel sat on the floor at the front of the meat freezer her knees drawn up to her body, leaning up against an iced over wall in the pitch black. The door opening let in light which, for a while, blinded her.

"Who's there? Who is it?"

"It's just me honey."

Relief flooded through Hazel at the sound of Porsche's voice.

"Porsche? Thank goodness! Get me outta here!"

"I will babe. Chef sent me to get you. He's said you can come out provided you're ready to get back to work. Otherwise I gotta leave you in here. Don't be an idiot Hazel, please say you'll do it...Say you'll do the job so's I can let you out, ok? Hazel? I don't wanna have to leave you here sweetheart."

"Where's the guy? Where's Dean?"

Porsche shook her head.

"See, he's why you ended up in here. Forget that shit-head honey. You gotta start thinkin' about yourself."

Hazel nodded miserably.

"Ok...I will. I'll do my job, promise. Please Porsche? Can I come out? I don't like it in here, it's scary in the dark when the door's closed."

Porsche smiled brilliantly.

"Of _course_ you can come out babe. I'm so pleased for you. Let's go. Chef wants a word first, then we'll get you back out front, let our customers know everythin's ok."

Standing, Hazel moved towards Porsche's outstretched hand and took hold of it gratefully, allowing Porsche to lead her back through into the kitchen area.

"Is...Is Chef still angry with me?"

Porsche gave Hazel a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand.

"No sweetie. He's just real disappointed that you didn't back the team when things kicked off. He's the boss honey, he needs to know you understand your duties. He wants to make certain you're clear 'bout his expectations of us as his waitresses is all. Ok? He's in the rest room waitin', wants to keep things private between you an' him."

As the kitchen opened up, Hazel ground to a halt when she saw Dean secured to the table normally used for food prep. Dean spotted the waitress at the same moment.

" _Hazel! You gotta_ _run_ , _get outta here_! The chef's a sick fuck, don't go in..."

Dean's words became unintelligible, muffled mumbles as Porsche's hand slammed down over his mouth and nose.

"See babe? This piece a' shit's already tryin' to get you into more trouble! I didn't wanna say but, he thought it was real funny chef had to lock you in that freezer to calm down. Go on, you get yourself to the rest room, I'll see to this asswipe. Go on now, don't keep Chef waitin'. Then after, you an' me can get back to doin our job, ok baby girl?"

Walking past the table where he was lying, Hazel averted her eyes, unable to watch Dean's attempts to dislodge Porsche's hand.

"He can't breathe, you need to let him breathe Porsche."

"I told you sweetie, I'll take care of him. I'm gonna gag him like I should 'a done earlier. Go on babe. I'll see you out front when Chef's done with you."

Hazel scuttled the rest of the way, following in the direction the chef had taken. Porsche looked down at Dean's reddened face, grinning as he strained to draw air past her hand, his eyes starting to flicker closed.

"Take my advice, keep your trap shut when I lift my hand. One shout an' Chef'll understand I had to make you pipe down anyway I could. Gottit?"

Dean barely nodded, Lifting her hand off his face, Dean instantly started drawing in rasping lungs full of air. Recovering quickly, eye's full of vengeance glared up at the woman, then followed her every move whilst she looked around for something to use as a gag. Dean hissed and spat his hatred towards her.

"You really are _fubar_ , you know that, _babe_? Wanna know somthin' else? I'm really gonna enjoy watchin' you die when I snuff you out like the fugly little insectoid that you are."

Porsche returned to him, having raided an old first aid kit. Jerking Dean's head up off the table, she began tightly and methodically winding a self holding bandage around the back of Dean's head, running it from there across his mouth , back behind his head, then over his mouth, again and again.

"D' _you_ wanna know somethin', _darlin_ '? You shouldn't go round makin' promises you're not up to keepin', ."

A woman's scream, full of terror and pain, had Dean straining against his bonds again and Porsche giggling at his efforts.

" _Awww_ , listen at that. I'm guessin' the _real_ fun's started. You know, Chef can get real creative in his cookin', always experimentin', mixin' unusual flavours an' ingredients. He's creative like that in other areas too; if you get my meanin'? Sounds to me like your girlfriend ain't appreciative of his experiments though... _Wow_! Just _listen_ to that! Seems whatever he tried out that time _really_ didn't fit well with her!"

Bile rose up, burning Dean's throat, the gag forcing him to swallow it back down when Hazel's scream's hit a new, raw and frantic pitch. Each sound of pain and terror she made tore into Dean like a physical blow, an accompaniment for the mantra pounding inside his head. _My fault...My fault..._

-o-

The sounds of Hazel's torture at the hands of the sadistic chef permeated through into the patron's dining area as nothing more unusual than the normal noises of a busy kitchen and so, completely unaware that anything might be wrong, the customers continued with their shared discussions about that day's earlier drama. Every voice however, faded into silence when the door to the diner opened, and all eyes were instantly directed towards the newest arrival.

-oOo-


	12. Chapter 12

Threads - Chap 12  
 _This isn't Area 51_

-oOo-

Almost every female client in the place smiled, in one way or another, at the tall, long haired brunette who walked into the diner, to their delight the brunette blushed in response, tired looking soft hazel green eyes gazing back shyly from within the spotlight of attention. The new comer was male and, shy gaze aside, held himself like a man not given to running away from a fight. Glancing around, he spotted a vacant booth and hurried to it, quickly sitting himself down then sliding along the leatherette covered bench seat and as far into a corner as he could, hiding from the direct view of as many of his fellow diners as possible. Grabbing the photocopied menu, he lifted it high enough to act as a further barrier to the curious looks of his peers. It quickly became obvious that the new guy wasn't going to be introducing himself any time soon and the other patrons gradually returned to their shared discussions, theories and some quite audacious guesses in relation to the earlier diner drama.

-o-

There being no sign of a waiter or waitress, Sam decided he would rather stay put and be patient, rather than go looking for someone and have all eyes would be on him again. He really didn't think he could handle the discomfort, not when he was already freaking out completely about having found himself standing outside the diner's entrance with no clue as to how he came to be there. He needed to try to calm down, set his mind onto figuring out how the Hell this had happened and where on the planet "here" _was_ exactly? And then there was that other important question... _What the_ _ **fudge**_ _am I wearing?_

Sam reached back over his own shoulder, feeling around he tugged at some excess material lying at the back of his neck. Just as he feared, not only was he wearing a rough woollen, dark brown, floor length robe, it did indeed came complete with a hood. Opening the front edges of the robe, Sam frowned at the dark charcole grey woollen tunic he wore. This was combined with black heavy duty cotton trousers and his feet were encased in black leather biker boots with a strap fetish. Sam gazed at his ensemble in confusion. Had he been at a fancy dress party before arriving here? Or at another one of those live role play events? Maybe it was somehow something linked to a case? It was too early for trick or treating yet, and he was pretty sure he wasn't having a waking dream. Sam turned his attention to listening in on the shared conversations taking place across booths and tables, hoping to hear something that would help to ground him and clarify where he was, along with why.

-o-

"...knew there was somethin' off with that guy when he came in that first time. An' then him leavin'? That did it for me an' got me thinkin'...I ain't never seen anybody else go. Get what I'm sayin'? 'Part from him, _nobody_ leaves after they get here. least ways, not out _that_ door. I'm tellin' you, the guys different, not like us. More like he's one o' them alien critters."

"What do you think they've done with him?"

"Love, why should we care? And what's with all the alien crap, man? This isn't Area 51, pal. Like the chef said, the man was trying to get out of leaving a tip."

"Bud! You _truly_ that dumb?"

"Did you see it lady? We sure got him good. That dude was _out_ of it!"

"Yeah, yeah. You're all mucho macho. Just remind me, how many was it on one guy? Lame ass."

"If I might be allowed to interject?"

" _Hush_ Jim, don't. Let it be why can't you?"

"What's the guy askin' we let him do?"

"Darling, people _need_ to hear, they have to accept the truth... _Everyone_... _Listen to me_! Thank you. Alright, now...I have been giving our situation a great deal of thought...

"What situation? We ain't got no situation grandpa!"

"You _do_ realise that's a double negative, sonny? And my conclusion is this...There are two likely routes we can take from here, but neither include that door over there. Put simply, there is uphill and there is downhill, and it may well be the staff here who make that decision. Understand? We all found ourselves here, sat down and placed an order, and it occurred to me, we all then keep on ordering. The man who was beaten without good reason? He is the only customer to have come, ordered, eaten and left, It feels like that was yesterday, but does anyone remember last night? _Hmmm_? The answer my friends is _no_ , like it or not, we don't. But something brought change, I don't know whether for good or bad, but I began to remember things, and the young man who we hurt, when maybe we should have protected him? I believe _he's_ the difference. I would now like to introduce myself, my name is Jim and the pretty lady next to me is my better half, Rosemary...And we both passed away before arriving here."

"Jim, _please_..."

"I'm sorry Rose, but it's the truth, you remember it too...So then. Anybody else remembered recently that they're dead?"

Sam stared at the faces of the customers within his line of sight, on edge as he, like Jim, waited for the response. The diner remained silent apart from the sounds of people shuffling in their seats, or clearing their throat as if wanting to answer, but not daring. Jim smiled.

"I am going to take the silence as a unanimous _Yes_ then! Thank you for listening."

"Um...Excuse me?...Sir? I'm just clarifying...You're saying we're _all_ dead and sittin' here like ghosts waiting to move on, right?"

"Yes, my dear, that's right. And what's more, you already _know_ it is!"

"Whoa! Hang on old man. Say you're right, ok? So, this _uphill_ and _downhill;_ you don't mean...?"

"Friend...That's _exactly_ what I mean. We're _all_ hanging around here until it's been decided whether it's up or down for us, then off you go, in whichever direction."

" _No_! No, no...I'm sorry, but you're _wrong_. _I_ can't be dead. I have a husband and a family, and a job. I've just bought my own house, with a back yard. How can I be dead? No, you're simply wrong! Why is anyone listening to this shit? You _have_ to be wrong!"

"Hey old man, I gotta question about the guy...Anybody here know anythin' about Hunters? _Not_ the shootin' deer kind?"

"There's another kind?"

"Excuse me! I was _speaking_! I was just explaining that I'm not dead..."

" _I_ heard of 'em. You thinkin' maybe the _guy'_ s a Hunter?"

"Damn straight! An' I'm wonderin' who he came for?"

"I said.. _.Excuse me_! I'm trying to explain that..."

"Oh, pipe down you stuck up cow! I'm dead, you're dead, we're _all_ dead. Get over it!"

"How _dare_ you! I'd say there's no prize for guessin' which way _you're_ going, dickhead!"

"Forget _that_ guy...We just got us a newcomer. Is it right that means one of us is goin' to be sent on to... _Somewhere_?"

" _Oh bollocks! Shut the fuck up_ can't you _?_ All this crap's too much. _You're_ _ **all**_ _doin' my fuckin' head in!"_

"Darling? _Please_. You have to promise, don't let them take _me_ when they come, alright? I mean, I don't care where I go...It's just, I don't want to go anywhere without _you_! Promise me we'll stay together? _Honey_?"

-o-

Sam's thoughts and emotions were in turmoil as he tried to make sense of everything. If what he was hearing was right, he had somehow got from the bunker where he was...He was...What the Hell _had_ he been doing? Whatever it was, it had ended up with him sitting here surrounded by dead people, the implication being that _he_ was dead too! Sam didn't let himself dwell on that, instead considering the possible Hunter who had been in once before, managed to leave via the exit door, then later came back again for some reason. Sam was almost certain, it _had_ to be his brother. Staring down again at his attire, Sam wondered if the novice monk look was something Dean had thought was an appropriate thing for the body of a man of letters to wear at it's Hunter's funeral? Had Dean returned here to wait for _him_? Sam suddenly felt nauseous as a further thought was triggered...Might Dean have been here that second time because _he_ was dead as well? Might they have, in fact, killed each other, say during a fight? In an instant Sam's priority was clear, find Dean and, for that, he decided he needed to check out the kitchen...

"You ready to order Sweet-pea?"

-o-

The waitress appearing soundlessly at his side startled Sam. He glanced at the woman's name badge whilst trying to regain some control.

"Porsche huh? Can I have a black coffee Porsche, while I look at the menu?

"Sure pet. Full strength or decaff.?"

"Um. Better make it a full strength I think, thanks."

"Comin' right up. Cheesecake's good today...Just sayin'...That's if your religion lets you eat cheesecake Father...er...Brother?"

Having no better explanation for the hooded robe over his dark clothing, Sam didn't bother to correct the woman. Having a strong bout of deja vu in relation to being referred to as _Father_ , Sam managed to give the waitress a small smile.

"Thankfully the ten commandments didn't run to including _Thou shalt not eat cheesecake._ I'll bear it in mind while I look at the menu

"Fine Father. I'll leave you to decide an' go get your coffee. _Black_ wasn't it?"

Again there was that sense of deja vu. Determinedly shrugging it off, Sam risked a glance at those fellow diners he could see. Nobody made eye contact with him, the eyes of the other customers were all busy following Porsche's progress as she walked away. Each of the observers seemed to look either worried or suspicious. Returning to making a show of reading the menu, Sam had to force himself not to flinch and draw further attention to himself when his stomach cramped. Riding it through while looking at the photographs of what customers should expect particular meals to look like, he realised that he was hungry; so hungry that he would happily eat and enjoy the worst kind of greasy concoction so loved by Dean. And thirsty, he felt incredibly thirsty. He had ordered coffee when what he really now felt desperate for was a large jug of water, hold the glass, bring me a straw!

-o-

It was very much like someone had just flicked a switch to "on" and Sam suddenly became highly attuned to the smell of food all around him, and the sounds of people's cutlery cutting and slicing as they ate. He was hit by a second bout of cramps and a loud rumbling from his guts as a practical problem came to mind. Sam gazed down at his robe again. He had no idea whether he was or not but, if he _was_ actually carrying money about his person, he didn't have the first clue where he might accommodate it in his current attire? It seemed to him that now was a good time to go find the bathroom and, maybe, a water dispenser. He also hoped it might present him with the opportunity to intentionally take a wrong direction, and check out the kitchen area. Sliding out from his booth, Sam schooled his features into what he hoped was a vaguely pious expression. Tucking each hand into the opposing sleeve opening in a classic monk's pose, he walked casually down the aisle, gazing around in a way that said he was looking for something, and saw the waitress also heading down the aisle, coming towards him with his coffee.

-o-

"Lost somethin' _...Father_?"

Sam smiled at the woman.

"Why, yes my dear. I'm looking for the little boy's room?"

Sam turned his head, an ice cold look coming to bare on the thirty something couple who were seated at the table he stood alongside of in response to a stage whisper from the male to his female companion. _He's gonna be real disappointed when he finds there's no_ _ **actual**_ _little boys_ _in there!_

Trying not to smile, the female elbowed the man she was with.

"Dolan! That's terrible of you. Stop it! I think he might've heard you."

Dolan wasn't about to be put off.

"So? Priests are _known_ for it! It's a fact."

Sam leaned down low and threateningly over the table, glaring at Dolan whilst whispering to him.

"I'm going to the bathroom. I'm more than happy to bring back some soap and to wash that dirty mouth out for you. Hear me?"

"He's sorry, um, your Worship; _aren't_ you Dolan? _Tell_ the nice...Monk?"

Dolan studiously avoided meeting Sam's gaze.

"Yeah. S'right. Just jokin' mate. M'sorry. Ok?"

Sam smiled coldly before straightening up.

"Bless you my son."

By the smirk showing on Porsche's face, she had clearly found the exchange amusing.

-o-

In the privacy of the bathroom, Sam stared at himself in the mirror, shocked at what he saw. The face staring back at him was drawn and looked beyond exhausted. His skin tone under the bathroom light seemed almost grey, his eyes were shadowed, sunk deep into their sockets and his lips were so dried out they had split in places

"Holy crap Dean! What the _Hell_ are we got caught up in? An' _what's_ with the freakin' robe? Why can't I remember anythin' about all this?... _Jeeze_...If you're here, hang on. I'll find you."

-o-

Seeing no warnings advising not to drink the tap water, Sam turned the cold water tap on and let it run a little. He threw some onto his face before cupping his hands in the flow and drinking what he caught, repeating the action another couple of times. He couldn't recall tap water ever tasting so good as it did right then, and he had to resist the urge to simply stick his head under the tap open mouthed and just keep on drinking. Sam stared at his reflection again, then began to pinch the skin on the back of one hand, watching the resulting pucker of flesh slowly diminish. _Dehydration? Looks real bad. How the Hell did I get to be so dehydrated?_ Sam had experienced lengths of time without access to fluids before, but the physical signs he saw now went beyond any prior experience and he wondered just how bad things had gotten? Right on cue his stomach cramped again. Sam knew it could possibly be a response to the cold water, except that he had experienced the sharp pain of stomach cramps before drinking. He recalled how hungry looking at the menu made him feel and he wondered, was it possible that before coming out of some kind of fugue state to find himself outside the diner, he had spent a period of time with neither food _or_ water? And why did he remember jack shit about _any_ of it? He considered his clothing again and further possibilities that could account for why he was dressed so conspicuously. Before ending up here, had he and Dean been hunting down some freaky assed Yoga Daemon? Had they needed to infiltrate some off the wall, robe wearing, cult? Or if they really _were_ at a fancy dress party, had it got some dumb Star Wars theme?

-oOo-

Chick xxx


	13. Chapter 13

_AN_ (Vague so's not to spoil)  
 _S11 "Baby"- Straight onto my all time fave episodes list! Back to the good old days, loads of fun, poor old Dean, but so clever how it helped,  
_ _but, in the cool box?! And_ _ **Sam**_ _! :D :D_

Oops, my bad. **Warning, M rated chapter content.** (Definitely for the last time)  
Threads - Chap 13  
-oOo-  
What's the big problem?

In an instant, Sam's thoughts were rudely interrupted by a shock of memory that had the effect of an unexpected, stinging slap across the face. He both felt and heard it's impact... _Use the force Luke. Come to the dark side._ Sam remembered, he was lying on an uneven surface drifting _No, not drifting,_ _dieing_ surrounded by darkness, reaching out, searching blindly for someone to help him, to save him; and finding Dean. It was _always_ Dean. He had tried to hide away from that one simple fact. He had done his utmost to cut the ties that bound them together, wanting to cast himself off from his brother...Right up until the moment he needed someone. _Use the force_. Dean's voice, the cryptic message had come from Dean, and he had responded, moving through the dark, following a pulsing thread of light that had brought him to here, to his brother.

-o-

Sam stared at himself in the mirror again. He got it. It was down to him. Dean would do what he had always done, he would be there for Sam, but only if Sam himself made it happen. Before _he_ could be saved, he first had to save Dean, the very thing he had so recently, and brutally, told Dean he wouldn't do. Sam glared angrily now at his own reflection.

"Sam Winchester, for _once,_ stop bein' such a freakin' no hope _jackass_!"

-o-

Setting Sam's coffee down on the table in the booth he was using, Porsche hurried back up the aisle and headed straight for the door to the kitchen, watched in silence by the diners. Hearing the door opening, Dean raised his head hopefully, grimacing behind his gag on seeing Porsche. The awful sounds of crying and begging coming from behind the rest room door had stopped a while before, leaving Dean worried that Hazel might be dead after whatever Porky had done to her. Whether she was or not, Dean had sworn to himself that the guy was going to pay once Dean got his hands on him. Just because Dean hadn't yet managed to free himself, it didn't mean he was about to give up believing that he could. Porsche hurried on past him without so much as a brief glance, and knocked urgently on the rest room door.

"Chef? I gotta talk to you. There's a new arrival an' this one could cause us a problem."

There was the sound of a key turning in a lock, followed by the chef's grumpy voice as he opened the door, his bulk blocking out a large part of the room behind him.

"Well? What is it?"

Glancing around the man as best she was able, Porsche caught a partial glimpse of Hazel where she was laid, unmoving, on the floor.

"It's the new guy...He's a damn _monk_!"

"He what now?"

"I ain't kiddin' you. He's wearin' the robe an' everythin' an', well, I'm guessin' that makes him one of the good guys...Um...Is the bimbo gonna be fit to work?"

"She'll need cleanin' up some, an' she ain't gonna be walkin' graceful like, but she'll do. This monk, so what if he's a good guy? What's the big problem?"

"Seriously? Look, if I'm right, an' he _is_ good, he's supposed to go upstairs, yeah? How's he gonna do that when the whole of upstairs is on lock down?"

The chef frowned as he considered the situation.

"Maybe, by the time it's his turn, Heaven'll be open for business again?"

"Sure,. but what if they're not? What then?"

"Then I guess we give him a choice, hang about here and help out, or hop over to Purgatory an' hope he can survive till Heaven's back on line. Problem solved. I gotta make a start on some pastry, go see to _her_ for me _._ Soon as you put her back to work you can take your extra break. I might wanna spend some more time with you later Mamma Bear. You're still the only one knows how to take _ev'rythin'_ I got to give."

"You mean 'cos a' this?"

Dean watched in astonishment as Porsche opened her mouth impossibly wide, then partially dislocated her jaw, making it even wider before she snapped her mouth closed again, her jaw realigning with an audible _click_. She slowly ran her tongue over her lips.

"You ain't never gonna find _anyone_ as acommodatin' as _me_ , Baby Bear."

Grabbing the virtually salivating chef's hand, she guided it up underneath her skirt, letting him know that she was free of any underwear, gasping and shuddering when he shoved a fat finger inside her and probed around briefly. Withdrawing his finger, the chef promptly stuck it in his mouth, sucking noisily, his eyes half closed. Dean turned his head away, trying not to heave.

"Like a goddamn lollypop baby girl. You be certain you keep that thing ready. I'm gonna be checkin' in later, breakin' in the new one's given me an appetite."

The chef roughly turned Dean's face towards him and moved himself into Dean's line of sight. Dean glared up at him in hate and disgust, his eyes promising things the gag stopped him from voicing.

"Hey pretty boy. You want me go there again so's _you_ can have a taste? Don' want you feelin' all left out."

Dean rapidly shook his head no, trying to press his whole body through the table top in his efforts to move away from the man. Grinning, the chef grabbed Porsche's arm and hauled her to Dean's side.

"You wouldn't mind my pal here havin' a peek, would you?"

"Whatever you say Chef. Just lift me up there Big Boy."

-o-

Horrified, Dean began to thrash around on the table, straining franticly at his bonds, sure he felt something loosen a fraction, as the chef easily lifted Porsche up onto the table where she sat herself astride Dean's chest. Wriggling her skirt up above her hips, she thrust her pelvis towards Dean's face and parted her thighs. Turning away, Dean screwed his eyes closed, for once grateful that he had a gag over his mouth as he continued to wrestle with the ropes fastening him down. Grinding her pelvis in a circular motion, Porsche affected a sulking pout.

"Aww. See that Baby Bear?...I don't think he likes me. He ain't even lookin'."

Smirking, the chef moved closer, wrapping a meaty arm around Porsche's hips he stroked his hand over her pubic hair. His other hand grasped Dean's face firmly, forcibly turning Dean's head so he was facing Porsche. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, Dean could feel the chef's hot breath on his face, smell his foul breath.

"What's wrong with you Pretty Boy? I'm startin' to think maybe you don't like the ladies. Is that it?"

Dean made a frustrated sound, unable to form an answer through the gag.

"Sorry pal? Whassat? Can't quite make it out."

"I believe he said he likes ladies just fine, but the thing you've got parked on him? That's no lady. Have to say, I agree with him."

-o-

All Dean's movement ceased as he froze at the completely unexpected sound of Sam's voice. Despite it being that flat, even toned voice which Dean recognised as the one used when Sam Winchester was beyond fury. The voice that signalled something big had better change, or that super-heated fury was going to be let loose, and damn the consequences.

Porsche stared over her shoulder at the intruder.

" _Shit_! It's the _monk_!"

Knocking the chef's hand off her, she hurriedly began pulling her skirt down and scrambling to dismount Dean. Dean himself had opened his eyes on hearing Sam's voice and was now staring in wide eyed disbelief at his younger brother, in particular, at the clothes Sam was wearing. The chef too stared open mouthed at the robed intruder. _The bitch weren't foolin', this guy really is some kinda monk!_ Porsche attracted the chef's attention by planting a hard kick to his shin.

"Quit starin' an' _do_ somethin' will you? You fat, half-witted _moron_!"

The chef _did_ do something. Turning to Porsche, he backhanded her solidly, knocking her down to the floor where she stayed, dazed. As he turned back around to confront Sam, Dean clearly saw the chef's eyes turn to black. Hazel had been right. This guy was a daemon.

"You're in a private area Monk. So how about you take yourself back to your booth like a good little monk _ey_!"

Sam smiled unpleasantly.

"Not gonna happen. What _is_ gonna happen, is you're gonna untie the guy on the table."

"Yeah? Well _screw you_ bud! This' none of your business an' if you know what's good for you, you'll back off."

Only Sam spotted the dishevelled and obviously traumatised woman emerging unsteadily out from another room. One hand was held behind her back, her clothing hung off her in tatters, barely covering her. Blood dripped down the insides of both her bare legs, more blood was smeared over her chin from a badly split lip and down one side of her face from a cut above her eye. There were clear bite marks both on her chest and on her shoulders. Her eyes seemed fevered and wild as she stared pitilessly at the chef's back, bringing her hand and the knife she held in it into Sam's view.

-o-

Sam didn't skip a beat, his focus now on keeping the chef's attention on him, desperate that the daemon remain unaware of the woman behind him, hoping against hope that both she and the weapon she was carrying had what it took to kill this prick. Having seen the state she was in, and having no doubts that this mountain of blubber was the cause of it, Sam wasn't about to begrudge the woman the kill.

"'Fraid you're wrong there. See, cretinous daemon scum like you? That's very _much_ my business, an' it's endin' shit like you that keeps me enjoyin' my work. You like knockin' women around, but how about someone...I _was_ goin' to say _someone your_ _own size_ , but Hell, ain't _nobody_ else your size!"

Hazel paused briefly by Dean, who eye's widened in shock at what he could see of the state she was in. She winced as she held a finger to her lips and yanked the gag down off his face. Dean immediately mouthed _Cut me free_ , but instead, Hazel ignored Dean and moved closer to the chef. With her whole body now trembling, she raised her small and inadequate looking knife.

-o-

Drawing herself up unsteadily onto her hands and knees, Porsche gazed around, seeing what Hazel was intending to do.

"Hazel?"

The chef, Hazel and Sam reacted instantly, all moving as one. The chef turned as Hazel lunged at him, bringing her knife down to strike.

"You fuckin' _bastard!_ "

Sam closed the distance between himself and the man mountain as the knife's blade sank deep into the blubber beneath the area of the Chef's left shoulder blade. The chef cried out, reaching for Hazel as, terrified, she tried to back away.

" _You little bitch_! You _know_ that idiotic thing won't kill me, _whore!_ "

Hazel gurgled as the chef's hand closed tightly around her neck. She instinctively began scratching and battering at his forearm while he wrenched her entirely off her feet, throwing her to one side like a sack of rubbish. She crashed into a stainless steel cupboard and slid to the floor moaning. The chef was unresponsive to Sam yanking the knife out of him, so Sam stabbed him again, aiming for his kidneys. The chef grunted, and pile drived his elbow into Sam's solar plexus, knocking Sam backwards. The chef turned too quickly for any human of his size, and sneered at the Hunter.

"I already said, _that_ little toothpick ain't gonna do it Monk. _My_ turn!"

The two men collided in a barrage of fists whilst Dean, still bound to the table, began muttering to himself, Stopping when he saw Porsche clinging onto the top of the oven with one hand to steady herself, and gripping a meat cleaver tightly in the other. She pushed herself away from the oven, raising the cleaver and moving in on Sam. Dean broke off from his muttering.

"Balls. _Sammy! Look out_!"

At Dean's warning, Sam grabbed hold of the chef with both hands, ignoring the pounding his face was getting and, muscles straining, forced the daemon to step sideways, effectively using him as a shield against the meat cleaver that was being swung wildly by Porsche. Unable to pull her blow, the weapon thudded and lodged in the chef's already blood soaked back, making him stagger and reach behind as far as he could, his hands clawing to try and get a hold of the cleaver.

"You stupid _fuck_ woman!"

Porsche had both hands over her mouth, staring in horror at what she had done.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Sam took advantage of the diversion to glance around, he grabbed the handle of a heavy iron pan filled with some kind of thick dark brown liquid from the top of the unlit cooker On the table, Dean began to mutter again, flinching when he heard the clang of the pan hitting against something solid and the chef's yell of pain. Part of the pan's contents landed on Dean, leaving a broad sticky brown slash across Dean's chest. Dean rolled his eyes but continued speaking, increasing his volume, letting his words be heard in the hope that Sam would keep the chef occupied for the time that Dean needed. He knew he had made the right call when he heard the sudden edge of panic in the chef's voice.

" _Porsche_...Shut that little fuck _up_! _Now_!"

Porsche turned to Dean, her eyes narrowed, an unpleasant sneer appearing on her face.

"Yes Chef."

-o-

Glaring at the woman as she moved quickly towards him, picking up a vegetable knife en route, Dean never-the-less continued with his fast rendition of a rite of banishing, whilst his brother and the chef wrestled for ownership of the pan.

"Shut your mouth Pretty Boy...I said _shut it_!"

It was all Dean could do to retain his momentum when the knife thudded into his gut, was torn out, swiftly raised, and brought down again, punching it's way between two of his lower ribs. Seeing the blade being lifted yet again, Dean closed his eyes, certain he wasn't going to be able to continue through a third strike. Hurrying to complete as much as he could, he became aware of a strained second voice joining with his own _Sammy!_ _Go for it bro'!_

 _"_ _No! Stop! Please! Stop!"_

Dean's eyes snapped open to see Porsche bent double with pain, her image flickering around the edges. In front of Sam, the chef was clutching at his head with both hands and howling as he too began to flicker and shimmer. The brothers looked at one another and Sam nodded to Dean, giving the older Hunter permission to stop, he'd got this now. Movement at his opposite side to where Porsche was sobbing and curling in on herself attracted Dean's attention. Hazel gave him a pained smile as she worked at cutting through the layers of rope pinning his arms and upper body to the table. Dean frowned up at her, seeing her begin to flicker and blur.

"Hazel?"

"It's...Ok. Really...All...Ok."

Slicing through the last of the rope, she too then gave in to the effects of the words of banishment, clutching at herself and moaning in pain, gradually becoming more transparent. Throwing the lengths of rope off himself, Dean grimaced as he partially sat up, trying to reach out for Hazel. She raised her head and smiled at him, seeing him through eyes that were now black.

 _"_ _All ok..."_

Sam uttered the final words to the rite and she blinked out of existence, along with the chef and Porsche, and at last everything lapsed into silence.

-o-

Weary, Dean let himself fall back down onto the table. Sam was swiftly by his side.

"Don't move, let me check those wounds."

Dean flapped one arm in his brother's direction, happy to comply.

"Knock yourself out."

He winced as his brother's fingers probed both stab wounds but stayed quiet, waiting for Sam's verdict.

"I need to deal with both these. They're bad, but you'll live."

Dean's lips curled into a half smile.

"Use the force Luke."

Sam stared down at his brother for a beat.

"That's what you said before, it's what got me here, so I think it's _your_ fault I'm dressed in this stupid outfit."

Dean's eyes roamed over Sam's robe and he smirked.

"S'mmy's a Jedi. Never said gotta come dressin' like a jerky Jedi. S'funny.

"Thanks."

-o-

Spotting the first aid kit, Sam quickly set to work while his brother dozed. Once he was satisfied, his curiosity took him out of the kitchen and into the dining area. He was in time to see the last of the diners, the elderly couple Jim and Rosemary, leaving. The old man turned and winked at Sam, giving him a wave as the diner's door closed behind them.

"Oh, bloody marvellous! I should've known. _Obviously_ you two were going to be involved, can't you keep your noses out of _anything_?...And what the _sweet ballgowns_ are you wearing Moose? Oh _please_...Don't tell me...You're in your dressing gown and PJ's! Is it time for beddie-byes? Where're you hiding the other one? I can't _wait_ to see what _Squirrel's_ wearing."

Folding his arms across his chest, Sam glared at the smaller man dressed in an expensive black suit and perched, cross legged, on the edge of one of the booth seats, gazing back at Sam in mild curiosity.

"Crowley."

" _Winchester_...Well, now we've both reminded ourselves who we are, care to tell me what you're doing here and, more to the point, why I've just had the _displeasure_ of seeing all the little souls who were gathered here, casually walk _out_ of my diner? _And_ why the staff I left in charge here have unexpectedly reappeared downstairs looking somewhat the worse for wear?... _Ahh_! Squirrel! Good to see you brimming with health. One of mine I take it? Tell me which one, I'll make certain they're rewarded for their admirable work!"

" _Fuck_ you, Crowley."

"Dean, darling...Eloquent as ever."

"Dean...?"

Something in Sam's voice captured Dean's full attention instantly and he moved closer to his brother. Sam appeared to be staring off into the distance.

"What is it? What's wrong Sam?"

Sam looked paler than ever and perspiration gave his face an unhealthy sheen as he shook his head slightly, continuing to gaze at some point beyond the diner's walls

"I...I'm not sure...Somethin'...I need...I'm... _Dean_?...

Both Dean and Crowley stared in astonishment at the empty spot where the younger Winchester had been standing. Crowley got up from his seat and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as he casually strolled closer to the vacant spot on the floor. He gazed down in curiosity at where the younger Winchester had been. One thing you could say about the Winchester boys, they always seemed to lead vaguely interesting lives.

"Now _that_ isn't something you see every day. You _have_ to tell me how the Moose pulled that one off? I'd _love_ to know."

Dean looked at Crowley's surprisingly innocent expression and frowned, his worry synapses firing at an ever increasing rate.

"You're tellin' me you didn't do this?"

Crowley managed to look offended.

"I'm hurt you would even consider it Squirrel! Not guilty I'm afraid. I'd assumed it was some new trick our little Sammy had developed?"

Dean scowled at the King of Hell.

"He's not _our_ Sammy, you runt! He's never gonna be _our_ Sammy. If this isn't down to you, an' you've nothin' useful to say, get lost. I've got a brother to find."

Crowley gave a careless shrug. He _had_ hoped Dean would want his help, it might have been interesting to tag along, even if it did mean spending time in the grumpier of the two Winchester's company. However, there was no way he was going to _ask_ to be invited to the party.

"Fine! I'm not one to stay where I'm not wanted; not always anyway. Just don't bother calling on me to help out if you can't find the Moose. As it is, I'll be busy. Seems one of my new daemon's still has a little too much humanity in her, had her playing for the wrong side and I can't have that, now can I? Looks like I have some re-training to arrange. Bye-bye. _Oh_. One more thing?... _Run_.

Crowley snapped his fingers.

-o-

Dean found himself left alone in what had instantly turned into a rapidly crumbling and decaying abandoned diner.

" _Shit_!"

With one arm pressed firmly across his stomach wound, Dean exited the weakening structure of the diner as quickly as he was able, finding the glass in the exit door already broken, it's remaining shards filthy with years' worth of dirt and grime. Outside it was daylight again and the sun was sat high in the sky. The Impala was now the only car in the dilapidated, rubbish strewn, weed coated and pot-hole riddled remains of the forecourt. Dean reached his car at the moment when, with a series of long drawn out creaks and screeches, half the building completely collapsed. Lowering himself carefully into the driver's seat, Dean quickly slotted the key in the ignition.

"Time to get outta here Baby, Sammy needs us."

Dean turned onto the road, hoping he was heading in the right direction to take him to back to the bunker and to his brother. Fishing his phone out of the glove compartment, he tried calling Sam. His concern hitting new heights when his call went unanswered, and his foot pressed down harder on the accelerator.

-o-

Underneath a section of heaped rubble that was the remains of an old diner, was what had once been a free-standing walk-in freezer. Knocked onto it's front as the building had collapsed around and onto it, it was now battered, chipped and rusting. Inside the freezer something moved, fighting it's way through slabs of unnaturally rapidly rotting, oozing and stinking meat. Pounding against one of the freezer's walls, Charles Alder, Deceased, began screaming in the darkness, begging for help, as yet unaware that there was no one to hear his pleas as he lay trapped, destined to spend the coming years alone and aware inside his metal coffin.

-oOo-  
NOT the end, more to come. :) Chick xxx


	14. Chapter 14

_:D :D Hospital stay due from tomorrow cancelled by specialist! :D :D Just got to attend a pre-op assessment that's all. Phew!  
_ Threads - Chap 14  
-oOo-  
 _Good time to change your password bro'._

Lying on his back amongst the heap of books, Sam kept drifting in and out of consciousness, his thoughts confused, making no sense, and his body lacking the energy necessary to move. He had the feeling that there was something he should be doing, a task, something that was important, but he couldn't bring to mind what it was. Eventually he gave up trying, content to let himself once again drift into unconsciousness, unable now to do anything else.

-o-

Having taken turns and chosen roads at random when he first walked out on Sam, Dean had no real idea of how close or far he now was from the bunker, and he began to look out for a road sign from which he could then use his phone to access a map showing him the route home. It wasn't long before he spotted a tourist information sign directing people to a nearby beauty spot. Locating the beauty spot on the map, Dean squinted at it, then checked and re-checked his calculations, feeling less and less certain that he had arrived at the diner on the second occasion by sheer coincidence. He wasn't about to complain however that for all the time he had been driving before ending up at the diner, ten miles were all that separated him from his destination. Increasing his speed, Dean began to impatiently count the miles off.

-o-

The time spent driving did Dean no favours as far as his aches, pains and injuries went, so much so that when he at last entered the bunker, he had no option but to cling tightly onto the handrail while making his painful descent down the stairs leading from the doorway to floor level. The place was cold, and too silent. There was no smell of fresh coffee, none of the sounds the bunker itself made, the occasional creaks and other noises buildings generally made and which Dean hadn't really noticed in the bunker before, until now when they were absent. His rate of progress was limited by his wounds, leaving Dean wanting to cry out in his frustration at the strictures they placed on his capabilities and at a time when every cell in his body was screaming at him to hurry. Calling out his brother's name brought no reward as Dean headed in the direction of Sam's room. Despite the silence, Dean told himself that Sam _was_ here in the bunker somewhere, he _had_ to be, otherwise Dean would be lost, having no idea where else he might search for his younger brother.

-o-

The door to Sam's room was slightly ajar, the inside dark. Dean's fear for his brother overrode any concerns about the discomfort he might cause by suddenly flooding the room with light, and he flicked the light switch to _on_. Scanning the room from the doorway, Dean saw that everything in there was orderly and neat, including the bedclothes on the empty bed. Not satisfied, Dean spent the time needed to check the ensuite, under the bed, and even inside the wardrobes. Only then did he accept that Sam wasn't in the room. Heading back out and onto the corridor, Dean hesitated for a moment, then began making his way to his own room. When they were younger, if ever Sam was upset or distressed he would automatically seek the comfort afforded by being close to Dean. Now, in Dean's absence, the next best thing would be Dean's room.

-o-

Switching on the light, Dean was first struck by how untidy his own room was in comparison to his brothers. Ok, his version of "homey" meant walls decorated by weaponry, but still, it was something to break up the otherwise bare walls. His wardrobe door had been left partially open, clothing destined for laundering was piled untidily on a chair, his bedclothes were still rumpled from the last time he slept there; however long ago that was. Dean realised he didn't yet know how long he had been gone, only that his brief glimpse outside the diner when trying to leave told him that time moved differently on the inside. The evidence of him packing to depart, putting things in his duffle, then throwing them out again as he changed his mind, was scattered over the floor by his wardrobe, and a half bottle of bourbon stood open and empty on his bedside cabinet. Dean looked again at his bed, moving closer and staring thoughtfully at the patches of staining he had noticed. Although he quickly recognised what they were, he also knew he wasn't the cause. Not adverse to a little hand play, there being a distinct lack of female company wandering the bunker's corridors, he also happened to be tidy with it. The trouble was, his head couldn't quite wrap itself around the implication that the stains presented to him. Surely he wouldn't?...Would he? And if Sam _had_ , how was Dean now supposed to interpret the message this was sending? Was it Sam's base way of expressing how much he hated his (ex) brother? _No_. Dean refused that prowling thought. This was too un Sam like, there _had_ to be something else going off. Spinning around, Dean left his room and made his way determinedly to the library.

-o-

Letting itself drop softly from where it had been sleeping, hanging upside-down at the back of Dean's wardrobe, an excessively thin, dried up looking humanoid creature slid out from it's resting place and sniffed the air with it's rat-like nose. A narrow forked tongue flicked in and out of it's lipless mouth as it tasted Dean's scent, and the sound of dried out parchment rustling accompanied the twitch of it's long, dirty brown coloured, bat-like wings. The things naked form, right down to it's elongated, gnarled fingers and toes, was covered all over with short, bristly, mud brown hairs; and it's upwardly slanting eyes were coloured the dark red of port wine. Tiny cat ears perched on top of it's narrow head moved and turned like miniature antenna, and he heard the man thing making it's way closer to it's latest prize. With feline grace, the creature left the room and, squatting to move on it's hands and feet, followed unhurriedly in the direction that Dean had taken.

-o-

The door to the library was unlocked and as Dean quietly opened it, seeing signs of a couple of lights being on inside the room convinced him he was going to find his brother inside. Pushing the door open further, Dean felt a momentary resistance as the door pushed against something, scraping it along the library floor. Stepping inside, Dean peered around the door, puzzled to see one of the books lying on the floor directly up against the door bottom. Close by that was another book. Dean's gaze followed the trail to the main pile of scattered books and, lying amidst them all, unaware of Dean's presence, his brother. His totally _naked_ brother! Dean's first response was to stand motionless staring at Sam, his shock stopping him from being able to fully process the bizarre tableau before him. His nostrils flared at the stink coming from the scene, a mixture of his brother's bodily odours, his sweat and his... Dean's mind offered the word _Other_ to describe the scent that was mixed in with the other odours. Eyes scanning around, Dean's suspicions were confirmed by the signs of dried on bodily fluids and the damage caused to the pages and writings in those books that had been affected.

-o-

It was the tautness of his brother's skin on his face and the blue of his lips that finally served to shake Dean out of his stupor. He recognised immediately the danger that Sam was in, he needed help and he needed it quickly. Knowing exactly what he had to do Dean hurriedly exited the library, turning in the direction of the kitchen, and instantly ground to a halt again, his heart rate jumping.

" _The fu_...?"

Swiftly reversing back into the library again, Dean slammed the door closed and locked it.

" _Shit_! Shit, shit! I _so_ don't need this! _Crap_! Weapon, need a weapon, where...?"

Dean's frantic gaze homed in on the long, glass fronted display cabinet set against the wall at the far end of the library. _There_! He remembered there was a selection of weapons amongst the ancient artefacts and other curios the cabinet contained. There had to be something he could use against the... _Whatever_ the freakin' thing was that was currently making it's way along the corridor to the library. Again cursing his own injuries, Dean ignored his body's protests as he raced for the cabinet and swiftly scanned the contents. He smiled grimly when his eyes landed on a lethal looking war hammer. That would certainly do for starters! Yanking at the nearest cabinet door to the weapon, Dean groaned in frustration on finding it locked.

"Screw this!"

-o-

Averting his eyes away from the cabinet, Dean drove his elbow through the glass frontage, feeling a couple of cuts open up, one on the back of his forearm and another to the back of his hand. Not caring, he reached inside and grabbed hold of the War hammer's leather bound shaft and dragged it out, pleased at how comfortingly weighty the weapon felt in his hand, telling him this was no faked prop for the purpose of display. Dean cast around for a second weapon. In a world of ideals, he would have preferred a projectile, anything which would have allowed him to keep some distance between himself and the fugly heading his way, instead of having to get up close and personal. Without the availability of such a weapon, he instead picked up and hefted an Egyptian Khopesh with it's sickle shaped blade, figuring that it's length of around two feet would mean he that he could use it within the confines of a corridor. He relegated the war hammer to secondary weapon, looping it's leather strap around his left wrist and grasping the shaft in his hand. The Khopesh he held in his right hand and he took a few brief moments to get the feel of swinging and slashing with it, stopping when he heard scraping sounds coming from against the library door on the outside. Dean moved without a sound to position himself in front of Sam's prone body. He took only the briefest of glimpses to assure himself that Sam was still breathing for now, then he turned the whole of his attention to the library door, relaxing his stance and his breathing in readiness for the fight to come.

-o-

Outside the library, the creature scratched at the door, confused as to why it wouldn't open as easily as the first time it had tried it. Putting it's nose to the slender gap between door and frame, the creature sniffed and snuffled, separating the scent of the man-thing from the scent of what belonged to it, confirming that the man-thing was in there, and was between it and the scent of it's prey. The creature began a low keening, standing uptight in front of the door it spread it's wings and bared dirty small, sharp teeth in a display of aggression, warning the man thing off, angry that it was attempting to steal away with the prey. The creature began prowling back and forth at the doorway, occasionally pausing to scratch at it again to see if it would open yet. It's keening turned to a snorting sound, signalling it's increasing annoyance towards the man thing at the other side of the barrier.

-o-

For now Dean felt satisfied that the door was holding the creature on the other side at bay, giving him the chance to check on Sam more thoroughly. Using his foot, he slid enough books out of the immediate area to leave himself space to kneel at his brother's side. Taking off his over shirt, he used it to cover Sam from his waist and down as far as the shirt would reach, knowing full well that Sam, the Sam _he_ knew, would never want to be left lying naked in front of his older brother. Feeling how cold Sam was, Dean looked around for something, anything, to cover him fully. Seeing nothing else, Deans eyes strayed to a tapestry hanging on the wall directly above the cabinet he had already raided. Dean strode over to it, pausing briefly to read the laminated information card on the wall next to the tapestry. He hoped that when he was able to, Sam would appreciate having been warmed by a sixteenth century hand knotted Persian rug that was once believed to be a genuine flying carpet. Grabbing hold of the bottom of the rug, Dean yanked it down off the wall, causing a rip in both upper corners as he did so. Dean was impressed when no dust puffed off it when he haphazardly bundled the thing up to carry it across to Sam. Spreading the rug over his brother, Dean then moved around, tucking and folding it snugly around Sam's body, all the while alert to the sounds being made by the creature outside. Throughout the procedure, Sam didn't stir.

-o-

Dean needed access to fluids in order to force them into his brother, and that meant he had to get past the creature. He didn't think that he could afford to just to wait around and hope the thing might simply get bored and depart. It was looking to Dean more and more likely that he was going to have to force the confrontation himself, by unlocking the door and hoping to be able to keep the fight out in the corridor, as far away from Sam as possible. He wondered whether Sam had known about the creature stalking him? Maybe having had the time to research how to kill it? Or equally valuable information, such as how to avoid being killed _by_ it? Dean headed to the one PC that looked to be operating, taking it out of power save mode and opening it up using Sam's password...Except he kept getting the message that the password he was using was incorrect. Frustrated, he glared over his shoulder at his unconscious brother.

"That's great Sammy. Good time to change your password bro'. _Really_ helpful!"

-oOo-  
** If you want to know how tricky the jug and tumbler challenge is, give it a go ;p  
Chick xxxxxx


	15. Chapter 15

Threads - Chap 15  
-oOo-  
 _Batmonkey freak!_

Dean aborted his attempts to second guess what Sam might be using as his new password and, instead, focused on the books that were sharing the desk with the PC., most of which had copious sticky notes poking out from in-between numerous pages and, more bizarrely, pages with a square of toilet tissue poking out from between them. Flicking as fast as he could through marked pages he chose at random, nothing appeared relevant to the thing waiting outside in the corridor. Dean gave up. Time wasn't on his side. Picking up his weapons, he turned to face the door. Careful not to make any sound he walked over to it and came to a stand still. With no alternative having presented itself, Dean looked calmly at the key still sat in the lock. Letting the war hammer hang from it's leather strap around his wrist, he reached out, taking hold of the key before starting his internalised count.

 _One...Two..._

The creature stopped it's pacing, listening to the sounds of the man thing moving around, knowing when it moved close to the prey and when the man thing was more distant from it. The creature began a low, guttural and continuous growling when the man thing got closer than ever to the prey, and didn't immediately move away again. Climbing rapidly up the corridor wall and shuffling itself onto the area of wall directly above the library door, the creature stretched it's neck down until it could sniff at the slight gap between frame and the top edge of the door. Experimentally it poked the end of one long finger nail into the narrow gap, moving it along and back, trying and failing to open the door that way. In anger the thing turned it's head and spat out a streak of long black gelatinous phlegm, hitting the wall on the other side of the door to that which it had climbed up. The gloop landed as a black slash across the wall, glistening wetly and clinging tenaciously to the wall, neither dripping or slipping down it. The creature wiped it's chin on the back of a hair covered hand. Still squatting upside-down above the door, the creature stared in contemplation at the blockage that was keeping it separated from it's prey and the thing which had come to try to take possession of it. Instinct, and something in the scent of it's prey, told the creature that the prey was coming closer to being ready for harvesting. Releasing itself, it dropped down off the wall and back onto the floor again. Pressing it's body up against the door, the creature flicked out it's tongue, and licked at it, testing the graining in the wood, seeking to know how hard the wood which had been used to build the barrier was, able to discern the answer by using it's sensitive tongue to feel how close and tight the graining in the wood ran. Even having the ability to taste the wood's history, know the climate of the place where it grew as a tree and to recognise how strong, straight and proud that tree had stood, did nothing to help the creature stop it from being a hindrance. The creature scratched one fingernail down the full length of the door, as if attempting to gouge a way through. When the man thing spoke, the creature pressed an ear to the door. The intruder sounded...Not angry. Not brushed by insanity. Something else. Something too subtle for the creature to be able to fully recognise, or truly comprehend. The word sounds ended, and within a short time, the creature's nostrils flared at a delicate change it perceived in the man things scent. _This_ the creature understood. The man thing was preparing to fight, to lay down it's challenge to the creature for ownership of the prey. The creature hissed, accepted, the man thing's challenge and, with wings at full spread, it stepped back from the barrier a little, eager for it's competitor to emerge from behind it, and the safety it had afforded him.

... _Three!_

Dean turned the key and yanked open the library door, with a flick of his wrist he caught hold of the shaft of the war hammer and, with the hammer raised and the Kopesh held in a guard position angled upwards across the front of his upper body, he stormed directly at the monster at the same moment as, screeching, it leapt towards him. A brief thought crossed Dean's mind before man and beast collided. _Sonovabitch! Freakazoid looked way smaller crawlin' down the damn corridor!_

-o-

The Kopesh was instantly rendered useless, trapped, flattened in-between the bodies of the two antagonists. Nose to bristling fur with the creature, Dean gagged in response to it's strong and fusty body odour as he swung the pointed side of the war hammer's head in an arc and into the muscle and sinew of the creatures upper arm. The creature's simultaneous attack mirrored Deans as it swung with it's other arm, slashing Dean across the right side of his face with it's raggedly pointed nails then swiftly curled it's misshapen hand around Dean's neck, using it as handy leverage to lift Dean and throw him further down the corridor. Determinedly hanging onto both his weapons, Dean landed on his back, recognising the sensation of the stitches to the wound over his ribs bursting. The creature clamped it's hand over the puncture wound on it's arm and, drawing it's head back, spat it's black gelatinous body fluid at Dean while the Hunter was scrambling back to his feet. Seeing the stuff flying towards him, Dean side-stepped, grimacing as the stringy muck hit the floor with a resounding _splat._ Dean taunted the creature, wanting it to move further away from the library entrance.

" _Dude_ , that's just gross!" C'mon _Batmonkey_ _Freak_! Come to papa."

The creature obliged, beating it's leathery wings and flying at Dean with surprising speed.

" _Atta_ boy!"

Positioning his feet to give himself a solid base, Dean prepared to slash the creature's chest open with the Kopesh the moment the thing got within range. Seeing the danger, the creature adapted, veering off as Dean was about to strike, completing a touchdown landing for the space of a breath high up on the wall, before throwing itself down and on top of Dean, sending the Hunter to the floor amidst a riot of hairy hands and feet kicking, slashing and pounding at him. Stinging pain shot through Dean's right shoulder as sharp teeth tore into it, clamping down firmly. The area around where the creature bit down quickly turned numbingly cold, disabling Dean's use of that arm, and leaving Dean clasping the hilt of the Kopesh more from pure survival instinct than intent. The creature hacked, preparing to spit again, it's face hovering over Dean's. Dean pushed both his feet against the floor, arched his back in one swift jerking movement and then flipped onto his right side, dislodging the thing off of himself and hearing a coughing choke as, smacking onto the floor, the impact caused the creature to swallow down it's own sputum. The war hammer came down, punching through the nearest wing, going on to tear open a long gash in it when Dean dragged the hammer in a straight line across the wing. The creature screamed and the wing tried to curl in around the hammer being ripped through it and around Dean's arm, while Dean kicked and wriggled himself backwards on the floor and apart from the creature. Dean managed to get back on his feet just ahead of the thing and, turning the hammer over in his hand, he brought the squared end of the hammer's head down, feeling the thud as it connected with the side of the creature's head. Had the thing been human, a large part of it's skull would have caved in and the bone fragments been crushed into the underlying area of brain as a result of the hammer's blunt trauma impact; instead the hammer bounced off the skull and Dean came close to hitting himself in his own chest with the longer, claw shaped side of the head had he not instantly pulled the blow, missing injuring himself by a hairsbreadth. The creature raised it's arm, connecting with the weapon's shaft as it successfully blocked a further incoming blow from Dean. The hunter simply reposted off the thing's arm-parry, and used the impetus to swing the weapon in an arc, taking it back and down, smashing the head of the war hammer at waist level into the creature's flank, drawing a guttural howl of pain and surprise from the monster. Having to rely on using his left hand was getting tiring. Whilst moving back from the creature to give himself more space, Dean tried using his right arm to raise the Kopesh. He managed to bend the arm at the elbow to 45 degrees, a clear improvement, but not yet enough freedom and ease of movement to allow him to transfer to his stronger right handed fighting style. Staying upright on it's legs, the creature rushed at Dean again, who raised the war hammer in defence, only to see the creature vanish from his current line of sight when it suddenly dropped down, finishing it's charge on all fours and taking Dean's legs completely out from under him.

-o-

Dean hit the deck without breaking his fall, the war hammer occupying one hand and the other still not fully mobile as a result of the bite effect to his shoulder, and landed solidly on his front, knocking the wind out of himself in a whoosh of air and further wrecking the dressings to the wounds inflicted at the diner. Dean heard the sound of the Kopesh skidding away from him. The loop of leather on the end of the war hammer's shaft hung around Dean's wrist meant he managed to keep that weapon with him. His attempts to draw in a ragged breath were curtailed by the weight of the creature pouncing on his back, digging it's finger nails into his sides and, again, chomping down on his right shoulder, biting deeper and sending the ice cold chill throughout the whole of the shoulder and into the muscles of Dean's upper arm, wiping out any option for using the arm at all. Chittering and jabbering, the creature leaped onto it's feet, dragging Dean up with it. Spinning sideways, the creature released it's penetrating grip on Dean, throwing him against the corridor wall whereon it caught hold of Dean again before he could fall, and swung him into the opposite wall. This time it raised both arms in triumph and gave a high pitched squeal as it watched Dean slide bonelessly down the wall to end up with his legs splayed on the floor and his upper body tilted sideways, his back against the wall being the only support stopping his upper half from slipping all the way onto the floor. Dazed and hurting, Dean half opened his eyes to see the creature squatting down on all fours, glaring at him, it's teeth bared, it's tongue flicking in and out of it's mouth while the monster swayed menacingly from side to side, preparing to pounce and bring the battle to a close.

-o-

."Do it...Fuckwit."

Dean gave a short nod, acknowledging his adversary's victory. The monster launched instantly.

-o-

He grunted when the creature hit and landed on him, one gnarled hand driving flat to the centre of his chest, shoving him hard against the wall, it's other hand pulling Dean's head further over to one side, giving it full access to Dean's neck. Dean clenched his teeth as the creature rammed a nail into the side of his neck puncturing the skin, and his hand gripped the shaft of the war hammer tighter. The creature made a sound like a purr of pleasure, and clamped the edges of it's mouth around the puncture wound and Dean's stomach churned as he felt the thing's tongue begin to flit in and out of the wound, probing inside. The creature began drinking, alternating between sucking and lapping Dean's blood hungrily, it's eyes closing in pleasure and intermittently producing it's small purr as it fed. Forcing himself to ignore the sickening sensations the thing's feeding on him caused, Dean threw every ounce of strength and the will to fight that he had left into one final move while the creature's attention was entirely on food. Raising the war hammer and making full use of the heavy weight of the weapon, he slammed the penetrating side of the weapon's head at, and through, the side of the beast's skull.

-o-

For a couple of seconds the creature continued to feed, as if completely unaware that anything untoward had happened, leaving Dean to accept that he had failed. Then the movement of it's mouth and tongue suddenly stopped. Already dead, the creature silently toppled backwards off Dean and hit the floor, it's tongue hanging out of it's mouth lifelessly, a few drops of Dean's blood dripping from it's chin. No longer held in place by the creature, Dean's upper body slid the rest of the way down the wall. Hurting almost everywhere, bleeding, exhausted, Dean wondered how come he'd never noticed before now how wonderfully comfortable the corridor floor was? His desire to stay there was intense, wishing for nothing more than to be left to sleep there for at least a week but as always, he had responsibilities. No time or space to care for his own needs, the needs of others always had to come first, their value always being the greater. And right now he had a brother needing to be taken care of...If it already wasn't too late.

-o-

If it had been for himself, Dean wouldn't have found the energy or motivation to do anything more; but it wasn't for him. It was for Sam; and so the older Winchester fought his way back onto his feet and stumbled his way to the kitchen, right arm hanging loose by his side, both bite wounds and his stab wound in his rib area bleeding. Holding his left hand over his neck wound, Dean counted himself one lucky SOB that while the neck wound felt bad, at least he wasn't fighting to stem arterial bleeding. At each step he took, the gore coated war hammer still hanging from it's wrist strap swung from side to side, spreading the gunk across his tee. Dean didn't care about any of it, his only concern being to get water and then to get said water into Sam. As long as the Batmonkey was dead, what the thing _really_ was could wait, forever if necessary.

-o-

His return trip to the library was made with a glass tumbler wedged under his left arm, and a jug of water, to which he had added both salt and sugar, in his hand. His shuffling gait caused waves in the water and he couldn't quite manage to stop small amounts spilling over the rim of the jug, leaving a trail of water splashes along the floor in his wake. The body of the creature only held his attention for the time it took him to cautiously step over it's limbs. Bone weary, Dean entered the library fearfully, hardly daring to look at the still figure of his brother, addressing instead the how to's of setting down the water and glass by his brother's side with his functioning arm being the same one that was currently engaged in carrying the vital equipment. A certain level of gymnastics and two short trips by Dean held the answer ** until finally, he was sitting on the floor by Sam's side and holding his own breath while reaching to search for a pulse at Sam's neck. Dean bowed his head in relief, it was fast, it was weak and it was irregular; but it was there. Not prepared to have gone through everything just to then drown his younger brother trying to get water down him in Sam's current position, Dean rummaged around under the rug covering Sam and, like a rabbit from a hat, pulled out the over shirt he had earlier placed over the younger Winchester. Stacking two books, Dean bundled his shirt on top of them and completed a further gymnastic trial, raising Sam's head with his working hand and arm, and positioning his makeshift pillow under Sam's head by using a foot to shove and shuffle it underneath Sam's head.

"I know it's prob'ly not comfy bro', but at least you'll not feel so much like you're bein' water boarded. Sammy? Don't know if you're hearin' me, but I gotta get this water down you. All you need do is swallow, I'll do the rest, ok? Ok...Here we go."

-o-

Dean started by persuading the tiniest dribbles if liquid between Sam's lips, patiently stopping each time to tickle and stroke Sam's oesophagus to encourage a swallow reflex. The first time he saw Sam swallow unaided, Dean came close to breaking down and weeping, so intense were his feelings of gratitude at that perfect moment. Seeing Sam beginning to strain to open his eyes was eventually the thing that did cause Dean's tears to overspill and he leaned into Sam's line of sight, his voice soft, unable to hide it's distinct quiver. If Sam ever asked, he'd put it down to his own exhaustion.

"That's it Sammy, that's right my baby brother, you come back to me; come on back to me, I've been bored talkin' to myself...No Sammy, put your hands down, you _have'ta_ drink this kid. That's an order! Yeah, you've no need to pull that face, I _know_ it tastes friggin' vile and guess what? I don' give a shit! You _are_ goin' to drink it 'cos I'm the eldest an' I say so! _Stop_ with the hands...No point tryin' to fight me on this, you'll only make me spill it over your face...Good boy. _Atta_ boy Sammy!"

It wasn't a fast job, but Dean was prepared to take as much time as was necessary, his own needs forgotten as he patiently brought Sam back from the brink. Sam was spending longer with his eyes open, most of the time simply gazing up at Dean while Dean maintained a flow of encouragement, smiles and reassurance, interspersed with light hearted comments designed to persuade his brother that everything was fine, he was fine, they were fine.

"You starin' at me to remind yourself what a good lookin' brother you got Sammy?"

"You warmin' up any Sammy?"

"When you're feelin' more like yourself an' you see what I covered you up with, I'm pretty sure you'll see the funny side...I hope."

"Soon have you fit enough to do some research, I came across this butt ugly critter, not so long ago. I'd love to know what it is, maybe you can help me with that?"

"What're you staring at now little bro'? Oh...This? It's nothin' man, just a shavin' cut. Yeah ok, I grant you, don't much look like one. How about if I told you it was a funky shaped shaving razor? Nah, wouldn't work on me either. I'm good, stop frownin' an' drink."

"Tastes like shit huh? Look at it this way, if you've noticed, you must be feelin' better?"

-o-

At last Dean's patience paid dividends when Sam finally cleared his throat and spoke for the first time.

"Arm?"

"What? Oh, yeah, had an accident, went a bit numb is all but look, see? It's wearin' off now."

Sam's eyes moved from Dean's arm back to his neck.

"That?"

"Told you, funky razor."

"Liar...Wanna sit up."

"Ok, if you're sure you're ready for that?"

Once Dean helped Sam sit upright, the younger Winchester gazed at the area surrounding him in confusion.

"Dean...?"

Dean glanced around at the scattered books as well.

"You don't remember?"

Sam looked thoughtful, but shook his head, non the wiser.

"No. Nothin'. Was this me?"

Dean shrugged, hyper aware that there was likely to be some _really_ awkward questions cropping up soon.

"I think so. Maybe you were planning a garage sale? You know, havin' a clear out? What's the last thing you _do_ remember?"

He watched while Sam screwed up his face in concentration, trying to capture his most recent memory. When Sam looked up again, it was with a sadness in his eyes that made Dean want to deny whatever Sam said, tell him he was wrong, that they had been doing ok. Dean waited.

"Um...I cooked, we talked 'bout a possible case...I screwed up. Said the wrong thing, wrong word, made you mad, pushed you away...I'm sorry. Then nothin' till you're sloshing water all over me!"

Dean shook his head and gave a half smile.

"I think you've got some stuff mixed up. You never pushed me away Sam. See? I'm still right here...Jug's empty, I'll go refill it, stay put till I get back."

-oOo-  
Chick xxxx


	16. Chapter 16

_Penultimate Chapter  
_ Threads - Chap 16  
-oOo-  
 _Why're you up n' I'm down?._

Dean forced himself to make the journey to refill the jug, becoming more aware of how bad he was feeling in himself and finding the urge to stop becoming less willing to be ignored and pushed to one side. He found he was repeatedly telling himself that he would rest once he had managed to help Sam to his room, once he was certain his brother was out of danger, and once he had ensured Sam had access to fluids and maybe some rice biscuits. Once that was all done, then he would go to his own room and rest. At least, that was what he told himself to in order to keep going.

-o-

Dean's slow walk back into the library felt like it was taking an eternity, every step he forced out of himself taken on leaden feet. Finally there, he found Sam now sat on a chair, clutching the rug around himself, and refusing to meet Dean's eyes. _Oh crap. Here we go._

"Sammy? How're you doin'?"

"I'd really like to go to my room, could you help me?"

Dean sighed.

"Sure I'll help, but Sam..."

"Don', please? I don' wanna hear it. Please just help me, I don' wanna be in here seein' what..."

"I get that bro', I do...But you gotta know...

" _No_...I know you've seen...I don't...I can't remember but...Please? I know I'm askin' a lot of you...Please Dean?"

Dean gave up trying to reassure his younger brother, Sam was going to continue to feel ashamed and embarrassed, no matter what. Instead he nodded and readied himself to do as Sam asked.

"Ok, no problem...You need to know though, there's a body out in the corridor. I think it's the thing responsible for...Everythin'. I'm pretty sure it's stayin' dead, so don't worry, ok?"

Sam just looked at the floor miserably.

"Yeah sure. If you say so."

-o-

The brothers paused by the creature's corps and they both stared down at the thing.

" _You_ killed this?"

"Yeah."

"On your own?"

Despite his whole body now screaming at him _Quit!_ , Dean spluttered a short laugh.

"I guess I must've. My wing man was busy sleepin'."

-o-

Dead on his feet, at the doorway of Sam's room Dean stopped and stared over at the bed in disbelief, amazed at just how far away it was. Feeling a little stronger in himself now, Sam recognised the shudders of pain wracking his brother's body, finally seeing the toll this was taking on Dean in the haggard look on his face, the white of his skin, the deep, dark shadows around his eyes and the lack of any colour in his lips. So maybe he did have a big brother who had superhuman powers and was the strongest, most stubborn, person he knew. But the sole reason the man he was leaning on was still going, was him.

"Dean? Enough. I can manage it from here, you have to stop now."

"No. C'mon...S'juss another couple'a miles S'mmy. I got you baby broth...

" _Dean_!"

Sam could do nothing to help slow his brother's sudden collapse.

-o-

There was a moment some time later when he half woke, enough to recognise that he was lying next to something warm, and that he was comfortable, although it felt like there wasn't much room wherever he was. The confinement of the small space didn't really bother him however, the warm and comfortable outweighing it, and so he happily drifted back to sleep.

-o-

He half woke a few times, only to head almost straight back into happy sleep. On the occasion he was forced to head further towards waking, it was because there was some damn insect stinging him on the neck. Keeping his eyes closed, Dean raised a lazy hand to slap at the bug, scrunching his eyebrows together when the bug fought back, catching hold of his hand before he had the chance to squish it.

"Stop that Dean. I need to check on this."

 _Huh. Never knew insects talked. How come it knows my name?_ Curious, Dean's eyes blinked open, to find Sam leaning over him, the stinging sensation coming from him peeling back the tape holding a dressing on Dean's neck. Sam leaned closer, carefully inspecting the wound that had been hidden underneath. Dean remained still, watching Sam's face for clues as to how the injury looked. His brother nodded before looking back down at him.

"Hi there sleepy head. This' looking good, no infection. How're you feeling?"

"Thought you were a bug."

Smiling, Sam raised one eyebrow.

"Really. Should I be flattered?"

Dean considered the question before answering.

"Some bugs're pretty...Why're you up 'n I'm down?"

Sam sat himself down on the edge of the bed.

"You passed out. Not surprising really. You'd lost quite a lot of blood by then between all your wounds. Only reason you were still upright at all is 'cos you were so busy looking after me...Anyway, I managed to haul your ass onto my bed and you've mostly been out of it for the past thirty six hours or so."

Digesting the news, Dean looked at Sam with concern and began trying to wriggle himself up the bed. He intended to sit up but, instead, had to bite down on his lower lip to curtail an unexpected wanton whimper and avoid jump starting an increased fuss response by Sam. He decided to settle for adjusting his prone position

"Did...I hurt you?"

"Idiot. It wasn't me that face planted. And if you want to sit up Dean, say so and I'll help."

 _Dammit, he saw_ "S'ok. I'm good right here. How're you?"

"All thanks to you, much better, almost back up to full speed. I still can't remember anything from my gone crazy time."

Dean flashed a wicked grin.

"Which one?"

"Funny. Here. Water, pain killers."

-o-

Sat up contentedly drinking coffee, Dean glanced around Sam's room.

"So, um, where did you sleep?"

Sam maintained a neutral expression.

"Right hand side. It wasn't too bad, you only tried to cuddle two or three times."

Sam chuckled at the appalled expression on his brother's face before looking at him steadily.

"It's good to see you awake Dean."

Dean's gaze was equally serious.

"Likewise."

A contemplative silence fell between the two brothers, broken eventually by Dean.

"So, what happened to Batmonkey?"

Sam grinned at Dean's name for the creature he had managed to kill in defence of his younger brother.

"You mean the Baital?"

"Do I?"

"Yeah. Having it laying there stinkin' up the place was better than a mug shot when it came to IDing it. Mean son-of-a-bitch, drives it's victims to a level of insanity where their delusions end up killing them, then it "harvests" them. It feeds on blood, like a vampire but it's not related to them. This thing originates from India. Your man that suffocated himself? He'd been convinced he didn't need to breathe to live and died when he set out to prove it to the people he'd told and who'd laughed at him...Seems that for some reason my delusions must've convinced me I didn't need food, or water and, maybe, sleep."

Sam took a deep breath and turned his head away from Dean, hunching his shoulders.

"I saw all those books, all filled with sticky notes, the pieces of toilet paper...And stuff..."

Sam paused, knowing that what he had seen and cleaned up from the aftermath of his own insanity, his brother had seen too. A Hand gripped his shoulder.

"Hey, hey. Sammy. Don't. It's ok. It's all ok...Juss think on this; s'lucky it was _you_. Imagine if it'd been _me_ instead? _Nothin'_ around here would'a been safe! I'd 'a probably made love to the damn _coffee_ pot!"

A laugh spluttered out of Sam and he finally looked at Dean, smiling despite the tears of shame standing in his eyes.

"Dean! That's just gross!"

Dean grinned easily and unashamedly back at his brother.

"Worst part? I'd _definitely_ have gone an' been unfaithful an' had an affair with an armchair. Think you've met her...The one with the nice legs?"

Sam's tears had turned to tears of laughter.

"Dude, I am _never_ sittin' in that chair again!"

"But Sammy! She already told me she's got a thing goin' for you!"

When the brothers' laugher finally died away, Dean listened while Sam told how, once he felt able, he had taken the body of the Baital out into the nearby woodland and burnt it's body. When he had tried to clean it's sputum off the wall, he had discovered it's burning effect on bare skin. He'd tried but couldn't fully clean away the grey staining that the gloop caused on the wall and so he had left it, testament to another battle fought and won.

-oOo-  
Chick xxxx


	17. Chapter 17

_Final Chapter & Epilogue  
_Threads - Chap 17  
-oOo-  
Dean's Theory

The following day, Dean was allowed out of bed. Sharing a sofa, Dean began to fill Sam in on (most of) what had happened at the diner and, between them, the pair worked together, gradually building a picture satisfying to them both, of how the threads of their individual experiences intertwined. Sam watched, making comments and suggestions, while Dean entered a record of the case into their Hunter's journal.

"Wait, before you write anything else Dean. You said it's down to Crowley the diner was there and I get that. He told you the daemons were his, but why set something like that up?"

Dean sat back in silence for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

"Ok...Think about Crowley for a minute, if you can stand it. He's a sales rep., a businessman. The right size paperclips in the right place matter to him."

"True. So he likes things neat, orderly. Your paperclips together in one place, all Vomit Daemons together in another...

" _Vomit_ Daemons?"

"Whatever. He uses the diner to stack up the Baital's kills all in one place?"

"Or maybe 'cos of how they all died, not quite suicide? We think everybody there killed themselves, but only because of the Batmonkey effect. Or maybe he was expectin' the fun to go on some an' the diner was like a temporary storage container that he planned on clearin' out whenever Baital kills stopped comin' in?...No! No scratch that. I think I've got it figured now! Try this. It _was_ a storage container for Baital kills an' they were dumped there where they could be sorted out. Which souls were his...An' which had to hang out _somewhere_ till Heaven hopefully re-opened for business?"

"Dean, that's it! I'd bet all Crowley's suits on it! Only, how come _you_ were there? _Twice_?"

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his lap, his hands clasped together, suddenly nervous.

"Somebody said I was waitin'. I don't know how I ended up there the second time, whether it was down to me or somethin' else; but what I'm sure of, I was there because I was waitin' for _you_."

It happened again, the silence, each brother thinking back over the past weeks, the anger, the hurt, the frustration, words said, words regretted. Words that could never be un-said, and yet...

Dean coughed, hesitated, unsure how to progress. Sam frowned.

"You ok?"

Dean nodded.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. It's just... _Jeeze_."

Sam waited in silence, worried that pushing might frighten Dean off from saying whatever it was he was struggling with.

"Ok, here goes. It's just there's somethin' I've not told you, well, I told you, but not quite the right version...Sammy...This' gonna sound crazy!"

Sam's voice was soft at Dean's side as he mirrored his brother's posture.

"Crazier than anything _I_ did?"

Dean glanced at Sam and turned away again.

"I dunno...Yeah, maybe even crazier than that! If I say _Use the force Luke. Come to the dark side_. Does that mean anythin' to you?"

"You wanna watch Star Wars? _Hey_ fine, no problem. We can ... Oh...Ohhh! You _can't_...No. No way... _Shit_!"

Sam stood up, both hands on his head as he began to pace quickly back and forth in agitation with an expression of shock and disbelief on his face, totally ignoring his brother's presence in his turbulently distracted state. Already having had his chance to flip out, all be it briefly, Dean sat in silence, allowing Sam his time to climb down a branch or two from the top of the high Tree of Impossible that he was currently sitting on. After a while, when Sam showed no sign of slowing down, Dean stood up and wandered off, leaving Sam still pacing and having a muttered argument with himself.

-o-

Dean returned bearing two whisky tumblers, each containing a double shot. Although he recognised that, health wise, it wasn't the best liquid to consume right now, it _was_ necessary. Timing himself, he shoved one glass out in front of Sam as he passed by and Sam automatically reached for it, going on to swallow it down in one swift mouthful and holding the empty glass out as he paced. Dean dutifully turned around again and headed off, this time returning with the bottle.

"Sam? Sammy? You're gonna have to stop if you want a re-fill. I'm not pourin' on the move. You hearin' me?"

He assumed Sam had, indeed, heard when his younger brother ground to a halt in front of Dean.

"More."

Dean kept it to a single shot and handed the glass back to Sam.

"You ready to sit down again yet?"

This time Sam met Dean's eyes.

"How?"

Playing dumb, Dean arched one eyebrow.

"Same way you usually sit down."

Sam shook his head.

"No. I mean, _how_?"

"Ohhh. Like how could you be here, when at the same time you pop up at the diner in your Luke Skywalker Jedi Master outfit?"

"Sorry? Dean, for crap's sake! You've lost me _completely_ now!"

"You. I think you got the message mixed up. Maybe you'd thought I said _Use the_ _force, come_ _ **as**_ _Luke to the dark side_. Who knows? Anyhoo, you turn up wearing some douchey robe thingy from the film; that part where they all go rescue Han Solo from Jabba? An' the Leila chick nearly wears that uber hot outfit?"

Sam's look was enough to persuade Dean to move on.

"Ok...So, you got mistaken for a monk."

"I _what_...? A _monk_? Oh c'mon! This' just gettin' freakier. I remember havin' a dream..."

"Sorry bro, you really _did_ wear the douchey robe, an' you weren't dreamin'."

Moving back across to the sofa, Sam collapsed onto it and gulped back the refill Dean had given him.

"You ready to hear my theory on it yet?"

Sam held his glass out yet again.

" _Please_...Theory away!"

"It's simple enough. We're brothers."

-o-

Sam stared up at Dean.

"That's it? That's your theory?"

Dean shrugged.

"Ok, if you want more. We're the Winchester brothers...Like it or not. Don't matter if you decide that's not what you want anymore, it's who we are. An' just announcing we're _not_ brothers don't change that we had the same parents, an' that we share the same blood. There's a bond between us Sam. You know it, I know it. An' while that bond might not be healthy, might be wrong by bein' as strong as it is; it's what saved both our lives. I dunno Sam, somethin', call it your spirit, call it your essence, call it your inner lettuce leaf, it doesn't matter. What matters is, that part of you picked up the thread of that bond when I called for you an', man, you followed that thing straight to me. You did that, an' because you did, you saved me. But here's the bit. You saved me, an' that meant I could get back here in time to save you...That more the kinda theory you wanted?"

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, his gaze aimed at the floor while he shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry Dean. What you're saying? That I was actually there with you? It's just not possible. It isn't!"

"Really? But bein' hauled outta Hell, makin' out with a daemon bitch, poppin' up to Heaven an' back, Diein' then bein' alive again who knows _how_ many times, time travel, jumpin' into a cage with Lucifer _and_ an Archangel, callin an angel up on his cell, threatenin' the King of Hell...Frequently I might add, gettin' zapped to Purgotary, _with_ the cell ownin' angel, but escapin' with a good guy vampire...All those things're normal are they?...Sam, you an' me? We deal with the supposedly impossible every single day. We've done, seen an' experienced things even other _Hunters_ would call impossible! How crazy is that? So, you turnin' up in a fake diner wearin' Star Wars fancy dress, whackin' a daemon chef round the head with a pan, you owe me a new shirt by-the-way, patchin' me up, irritatin' Crowley, then vanishin' in front of my eyes; an' while you were _doin'_ all that, _actually_ bein' right here, though as loony as a duck billed platypus...Tell me Sammy, what's so impossible about all that?"

Sam stared longingly down into his empty glass and gave one deep sigh.

"I guess when you put it like _that_ , it was just another fun-packed Winchester Wednesday."

Sam looked quickly up and at his brother.

"Hold on! You're sayin' it was _me_ that panned the chef, _not_ you?"

"S'right. _Boinggggg_ , right upside the head. An' there _I_ am. All beat up an' helpless, an _I_ get sauced! You might try lookin' for an empty pan next time dude."

Sam grinned at that, turning to find Dean was looking at him intently. His grin died instantly, a serious expression taking it's place.

"What is it Dean? Talk to me!"

"Are we good?"

Sam's relief at being to be able to answer his older brother's question was profound.

"Yes Dean...We're _very_ good"

 **Threads - Epilogue  
** Five days later...

Dean wandered into the kitchen rested and feeling relaxed, he had almost forgotten how pleasant that sense of being at ease was. He had luxuriated in lounging around in bed, dozing, knowing it was his brother's turn to make breakfast today. While they had both been taking time to fully recover and re-connect, an informal breakfast rota had developed whereby they took it in turns. One eyebrow arched when Dean saw Sam from the back. This clearly wasn't one of those "good hair" days and Dean smirked.

"Mornin' Hair Brain. How we doin' over there? I'm starvin'."

Sam answered without looking.

"Cereal's on the side if you want it, toast's on the table, coffee's in the pot, juice is in the refrigerator, and ... Rest's now in the oven so we're good to go."

Sam turned around smiling. Clearly the back view of his hair was just the supporting act for the real star that was the front. Both Dean's eyebrows hitched as he headed for the coffee.

" _Wow_! Restless night?"

"Honestly? Yeah, kinda."

Sitting themselves at the table, Dean looked at Sam in curiosity, knowing that he had been having a few nightmares the past few nights as flashes of memory about his days of craziness kept occurring.

"Nightmares?"

"Mmm. Not really, more of a busy brain problem."

Had Sam not generally seemed to be quite anxious, his timing would probably have had Dean snorting into his coffee any other day. Instead the older Winchester quickly pulled the coffee cup away from his mouth and worriedly searched his brother's face for...What? A neon sign flashing on Sam's forehead saying _I'm goin' nut bag again_?

"Busy brain? Go on. I'm listenin'."

"Yeah, you know. When you can't get to sleep 'cos all these thoughts keep cycloning around in your head an' you can't turn 'em off?"

"Ahhh. So, was there any particular reason for this thought cyclone?"

Sam gave a shrug that was supposed to appear nonchalant, but didn't quite carry it off.

"I guess. ... I was planning to go finish off in the library today. I, er...Cleaned up, then got out of there. But the books need putting back where they belong, the rug needs re-hanging, display case needs fixing, that kinda stuff. I know I've been avoiding going back in Dean, but it's time I started using it again, I think."

Dean nodded his understanding.

"You realise I don't mind doin' the fixin' up instead while you sit around an' supervise? Only reason I've not been in there is 'cos you told me not to."

"I know, but, I want to do this. I need to feel ok about being in there, alone. You understand?"

Dean nodded.

"Ok, I get it, I do. But, if you decide you _do_ need me to take over, or you want a hand, or a coffee bringin', just let me know, will you?"

"Yeah...Thanks Dean."

"Thank me with sausages."

-o-

Watching his brother walking off down the corridor, it was hard for Dean not to automatically take charge, take over, and order Sam to go do something else while he, Dean, fixed everything. He told himself that his brother putting things back the way they should be would help Sam begin dealing with the emotional trauma. So, Dean occupied himself by washing dishes, finishing off the journal entry, drinking coffee and cleaning weapons, all the while remaining on the alert in case Sam needed him. Even so, the call, when it came, still managed to startle him.

" _Dean?_ _ **C'mere**_ _!"_

-o-

Keeping tight hold of the silver dagger he had been polishing, Dean raced to the library, flinging himself through the door and quickly doing a visual scan, looking for the threat and not seeing it.

"What am I lookin' for? Where is it?"

"In my hands _, jerk_. I'm holding it!"

Dean focused on Sam, and the thing he was holding up, instantly loosening his grip on the blade and relaxing again, although not quite fully thanks to a sudden flare of guilt. Recalling how he'd ripped the thing down off the wall and so ended up tearing it a little, he decided to brazen it out.

"Oh, right...And? It's a rug...You were naked. I needed to warm you up. It was all I'd got to hand, I didn't think Batmonkey would be ok fetchin' blankets."

Dean paused for a heartbeat before, knowingly, adding,

"Anyway, it's not like it's brand new... _Is_ it?"

Holding the rug in front of him by it's two torn corners, Sam stared in bug eyed horror across at his older brother.

"Dean! Did you read the notice? It's a _sixteenth century Persian_ rug!"

Dean gave Sam a hopeful smile, starting to enjoy his brother's shock.

"Yeah I read that, an' like I said, not new; so what's the big deal?"

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"You mean aside from it's outstandingly high antiquity value? That is, it's value _before_ you _ripped_ it off the wall!"

Dean began to enjoy Sam's annoyance less and started to feel uncomfortable again.

" _Outstanding_ value? Really? Um...How _outstandin'_ are we talkin' here?"

"Oh, I dunno, like _thousands_ , maybe even _six figures_! And that's bad enough, but don't you go thinkin' that's all, it's not. Not by a _long_ shot!"

A cold chill ran down Dean's spine and he started wondering whether, if he sliced off the ripped end, would it show? Would it still be worth as much as Sam said it was? Sam's eyes narrowed even further and his glare intensified, his voice dropping an octave.

"Did you...By any _possible_ chance...bother to read the _rest_ of the tag?"

Dean could sense clearly that Sam was now trying to hold back from the urge to run over and kick his butt all around the bunker. Dean felt his own irritation flare, what the Hell was up with the kid?

Yeah...So? What's your point Sam?

" _This_ is!"

With that, Sam flipped the rug out and let it float down to the floor.

"با قدرت که شما ساخته شده من دستور شما را به پرواز "

Dean actually felt himself grow pale when he saw the rug begin to weakly flip and flop to itself where it lay on the library floor.

"Um... _Oh_..."

"That's _it_? Oh? You _broke_ it Dean! A _real and genuine,_ and just so we're clear here, completely _priceless_ , **_flyin' freakin' carpet_**! _Real_! An' **_priceless_**! That's like, _nobody_... ** _Nobody_** on the _planet,_ not even Bill Gates himself, could afford to buy this thing... _When it worked_! But 'cos you probably never even _thought_ to stand on a damn chair an' lift the thing down, you _broke_ it! _See those rips_? Do you?... _You_ did that!... _Well_?"

Sam was virtually apoplectic. Dean had a cursory glance around his feet, unfortunately there seemed to be no handy hole for him to climb into. He looked back up at his enraged, almost puce coloured brother. An idea occurred and, suddenly brightening, Dean smiled the smile of the innocent.

"So _really_...There's no problem then, _is_ there?"

Sam rage instantly dispersed and instead he stared, dumbfounded for a second or two, until he realised that Dean was deadly serious. When he spoke his voice was almost a growl, each word carefully pronounced.

"In what wildly convoluted way, exactly, has your tiny shrunken brain managed to come to _that_ outstanding conclusion?"

" _Easy_. Nobody can afford to buy it, _right_? So really, that makes it pretty much _worthless,_ 'cos you'd never be able to sell it to anybody, _see_? So there's no point you havin' such a major hissy fit about it, _is_ there? What if it _has_ got a couple of rips in it?...Somethin' _that_ old, what d'you expect?"

" _Huh_?"

"what I mean is, it's probably like us, a few stitches an' it'll be good to go again, flappin' about the place like some jazzy coloured parrot. Um, just, you know...A really flat one...Anway, if that's all you needed? Me an' baby's goin to...Er...Go get some really _seriously_ code red urgent shoppin' in. Later bro'."

Dean went into casually hurrying mode as he made good his escape, not wanting to hang around for Sam's brain to catch up and respond. And when it came, he pretended not to hear the cry of sheer disbelief that echoed after him as he raced up the stairs to the bunker door.

" ** _Deeeaaannnn!_** "

 **FIN  
** Chick xx  
Thank you _so_ much for reading and for your amazing reviews. **_To mb64. Watch out, libraries can be dangerous places! With love xxx_**


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